The Suicide Kings
by Kumada42
Summary: In the shadow of Sailor Moon and the scouts, Chad Kumada and Melvin Renaude are simply unnoticed. But when a Third World War tears the nations apart, they must step up. No longer are they unknowns. They are the legendary pilots: The Suicide Kings.
1. Prologue

Prologue

He was gone. He'd tried to leave a few times before, always coming back or being brought back someway or another. This time, though, something happened that was out of Raye Hino's hands. Chad Kumada was always around her, doing chores, learning from her Grandfather, and obeying Raye's every whim. Now, Chad was gone, and it looked like it would be for good. It wasn't simply his packing a few bags then leaving. No, it was much more solid than that, and it was obvious to Raye as she stood in the waiting area of Tokyo International Airport. From the windows here she could even see Chad's flight as it lumbered up the runway and into a take-off position. Raye, clad in her T*A school uniform of simple grays and a little red bow under her collar, stood silently in a grim stare as the 747 jet finally made it's finally ground run, and then took off into the blue sky, jetting quickly away from her. The plane just got smaller and smaller, and at last she couldn't stand to simply watch anymore. Raye turned quickly, her raven hair waving like a fox tail over her face and then back around to her backside. Now she faced her friends.

She could feel the soreness of wanting to cry in the back of her throat, and tears were just now moistening her eyes. But she couldn't let her friends see her cry – or at least that's what she told herself. She'd always told them how she didn't care about him anymore than a mere male friend. It was a lie, and one that not one of her friends believed. But Raye believed it; she forced herself to believe it. How could a beautiful miko like her fall for a shaggy haired, American bum like Chad Kumada? In Raye's mind it would be a disgrace of class. It was obvious, however, that her heart wanted things differently. The mix of these feelings were odd to her friends. They all believed, with the exception of perhaps the school-bound Amy, that love was something to jump at. Raye seemed to believe it too, but not with Chad. One may suppose that for Raye it wasn't love at first sight; rather, Chad simply grew on her. The whole thing was also confusing because Raye had always been a person of passion, and one who followed her heart. She didn't wear her heart on her sleeve, and she was a good thinker, but her feelings of different matters were usually what determined her actions. However, her relationship with Chad seemed to defy her personality in general. But now, for a while at least, there would be no more confusion. There would also be no warm, welcoming, shaggy haired face to welcome the girls to the temple, and there would be no Raye pushing around a man five years her senior. How old was he now anyway? She'd never asked him until the past Christmas. Raye was seventeen now, and that made Chad twenty-two. Raye shook her head as she realized just how little she actually knew about him, aside from knowing the ins and outs of his personality.

Besides his desires and personality, Raye had known little of Chad as far as his past went. He was rich, she knew that, and he was part Japanese, getting his Japanese name from his great grandfather, an immigrant who came to the United States before the First World War. He was apparently born in Cheyenne, Wyoming and his mother, Rebecca, was the daughter of the owner of an oil company, which explained his wealth. His father, Michael Kumada, was a rancher, and his strict rules as a father were factors in Chad's rebellion - a rebellion that took him first to his Grandparent's cabin in the Netherlands, then to their cabin in the Japanese mountains, and finally to Tokyo. Then, in a twist of painful irony, it was Chad's father that took him away from Japan. Michael Kumada was dead.

Chad had received word from his mother in the States about his father's death, and was also sent a one-way ticket home. That was only four days ago, and now he was gone, flying somewhere over the Pacific.

Among her friends, who up until now were silent, Mina was the first to speak, "I'm sure he'll be back," she said.

Raye shook her head, staring at the floor beneath her. She took a quick sniffle then snapped her head up, her eyes red, but holding back the tears fairly effectively. She forced out a weak grin that was lop sided, "An American," she began, "I guess that explains his accent."

Several of the girls gasped, "Really? He was an American?" asked Amy, "Where from?"

Raye began to walk forward, heading for the nearest exit to the parking lot, "Someplace called Cheyenne."

"That would be in Wyoming, in the Western United States," Amy added.

"But man, the poor thing," Serena added, "His dad died. He must be hurting."

_I'm alone, and you're worried about him?_ Raye thought with a mental grumble. She huffed and then continued on, giving herself a strong stride and a proud strut, "Well, at least I won't have to yell at that goober anymore!" she declared as she made her way for the exit. It was something the girls all saw as an act. Sometimes they wondered if she meant it, but other times they could see right through their friend's words. But, still, they only rolled their eyes and followed her out.

That day, when Chad left, was now two years into the past, and life continued on as usual. The sun still rose and set everyday, and the duties of a miko were still in the daily doings of Raye Hino. Raye was nineteen now, and had graduated, as had the other girls. All had followed their dreams one way or another. Amy was already in college, studying to be a doctor. Serena joined Mina and Lita in a community college, and Raye was splitting time between her temple life, song writing and, as of recently, voice acting. The latter job she had managed to get through countless auditions and two agents. Raye enjoyed her life as it was, and the quiet of the temple that had been missing for some three years or so when Chad was there had returned. Her duties as a Sailor Scout were limited to simple crime fighting these days, and mystic powers and galactic evils seemed to be rare, very rare indeed. In fact, as of two years ago, just before Chad left, the really big battles for the scouts had ceased completely. So, amongst the peace and free time, all the girls were able to pursue their dreams and goals hindered only by the problems of every other college girl.

Raye stood still for a moment, raising a forearm to her brow and wiping sweat from her skin, her other hand filled with a broom. She sighed as she looked outside from within her fire reading room, noting the white snow falling in serene paths to the ground. The big, puffy flakes fell slowly and without wind to cause them to drift. The sky was gray with winter cover, but otherwise the day was beautiful. It was a bit chilly, which made Raye wonder how on Earth she was sweating so much.

As she looked out at the snow-covered city, four figures appeared head first at the stairs. They continued up to the main entrance to the temple, and Raye's friends were soon haling her, and they were soon followed by the short figures of Artemis and Luna, the two guardian cats. She smiled brightly, waved, and was about to call out to them with a cheerful greeting when her call was pre-maturely silenced by the look on the faces of Mina, Lita, Serena, and Amy. They all had a look of seriousness, Serena's face was filled with concern, and Mina looked as if the family dog had just stepped in front of a bus. They were all also in a hurry, running to Raye and once they closed in, Serena began to yell.

"Raye, Raye!" she called, "Something's happened! Something bad, really bad!"

When everyone reached her, Serena bent over huffing and puffing. Luna soon caught up and hopped up onto Serena's shoulder.

Mina wasted no time and handed Raye a roll of newspaper. Raye took it slowly, raising an eyebrow questioningly, "What's wrong, girls?" she asked, "You're scaring me. Tell me."

Raye sighed and gave up her questioning to unroll the paper. It didn't take long for the front page to take her breath away. There on the front page was the image of a huge city, what looked like the downtown of some big city, in ruins. Buildings blown out, smoke everywhere, and in the middle the figures of beings stood amidst the destruction. The beings caught her eye right away, as they looked like people. But these people, if the picture told the truth, were huge, towering nearly two stories themselves. She couldn't make out any details in the picture aside from the destruction. Then, her eyes drifted to the top of the page to the title of the article. Again, Raye's breath, if any was left from the first shock, was gone from her lungs in a loud gasp. The title was printed in large, bold characters which Raye read aloud.

"United States Invaded?" she read, the actual article making her question if it could be true, "Is this a tabloid?"

"No, it's my local newspaper," Mina said, "I knew you didn't get one, so I rushed over as fast as I could."

"But," Raye stuttered, "But, but what happened? How could the US be invaded?"

"It's China," Litas said loathingly, "China and from the looks a few allies."

Amy nodded, "They think it involves Iran and Iraq, India, North Korea, and Mexico."

"Mexico?" Raye asked, "I thought they were good guys."

"Mexico has a grudge with the US," Amy explained, digging into her world history, "I thought about this, and my guess would be that China, being the main aggressor, bargained some land off once it was conquered, and Mexico said yes. It would give an excellent invasion point for the Chinese."

"What, did you spend all night on that?" Serena asked.

"It just came out this morning," Amy returned.

Lita raised her hand, silencing them both, "The news is saying now that China launched attacks simultaneously on the US and Europe."

"Dear God," Raye said as she read on going silent for a bit, then bursting out, "This is terrible! Are we going to do anything? Has the government acted?"

The girls looked at each other and shrugged. They knew only so much. But the entire world was holding it's breath with those five girls.

Amy's guess was on the money. China, is preparation for the invasion of the United States bargained off a potential part of the US, specifically most of Texas, Southern California, New Mexico, and Arizona. It was all land lost by Mexico as a result of the Mexican-American War of the 1840's.

Mina looked at Raye anxiously, as if waiting for something. She was waiting for a word, a name to be precise. She stared at Raye's expressions, trying to catch any hint of worry, trying hard to see if she cared at all for a distant friend. Finally, after no results, Mina couldn't take the suspense any longer.

"Raye, the reason I hurried straight for you is," she paused and fumbled her hands together, "I don't want to worry you, but…"

"Chad's in America," Raye said in a dull monotone, "Is that what you were going to say?"

Mina opened her mouth to talk, but then only nodded. Raye dropped her arms to her sides and stared at Mina sternly. She ground her teeth behind two tightly closed lips and took in a deep breath before turning and slipping inside the fire room without another word.

Lita elbowed her friend, "Nice going, Mina." She growled.

"I just thought…maybe…she would actually care." Mina hung her head.

"Honestly," Serena said in a moment of rare calmness, "I think she does. She cares more than she wants to…a lot more."

Mina wanted to add her own thoughts but was cut off as a loud rumble was heard in the distance behind them. Another one, this one deafening and violent, followed it causing the ground beneath their feet to quake. All four turned around and Raye rushed out as well, catching herself on the doorframe before she could fall over the exit. When they all looked to the noise, they all gasped in shock. Fire was erupting from the middle of downtown Tokyo, followed upward by dark, black smoke. Soon another explosion burst in the city, and that one was followed by at least five others.

"This is bad," Lita said.

"Scouts," Serena announced with a hard gulp, "Transform…be ready for a fight…a really, really big fight."

Chad Kumada once thought his life couldn't get any worse once he had left Japan. He was convinced that leaving Raye only to attend his father's funeral was a combination attack on his emotions; as if life had decided to take his fragile heart and trample on it. Though as bad as life seemed on that flight home, he had no idea what lay ahead of him – if he did, he more than likely wouldn't have been thinking in such a way. He had tried to go back to Japan, but life intervened as he was forced to make a choice. His father, as it turned out, had left the family estate, a 20,000 acre ranch out side of Cheyenne, Wyoming, solely to him. He chose the ranch, seeing that it was the more logical approach to a new start in life. It was either go back to Japan, hoping to become something out of nothing, or stay in America and have a career waiting for him.

Fortunately, it was in his blood to take to ranching well. He was not only a natural, but after the first few months of work, he grew to enjoy the life. He had a horse of his own, his own, spacious room, fresh air, open space, and a group of good friends who accepted him without question. He learned that he loved cattle drives, and he loved to ride his horse, Cisco. He loved being out in the fresh air, and within months he was enjoying the fruits of his labor in the form of hard, well toned muscle. In fact, Chad was still slim, but was now well muscled, his abs, chest, arms and legs all toned to that a sculpture by his hard efforts.

The men Chad knew at the ranch were the same ones he'd known from before he'd left America, just a bit older. First there was old Ko Gardal, who was now into his sixties, and the oldest member of the ranch hands. He was a close friend of the family since Michael Kumada and himself were kids. Ko hopped on to the ranch work when he was twenty, and had stayed on for life. Next was Teddy Frauer, who, before Michael had been married, was the ranch's cook; now Teddy did the hard labor with the rest of the guys, and also like the rest of them, he didn't complain about a bit of it. Finally, there was Dan Ferguson, the youngest of the bunch and was Ko's nephew. He was Chad's age and had always known Chad more like a cousin than an acquaintance, a result of Chad seeing Ko as a sort of uncle.

Ko, above all the others, was amazed at Chad's work ethic upon his return from Japan. Chad had once been nothing but a dreamer and talker – lazy and, as his father once put it, "…about as helpful as a hungry coyote in the kitchen." But Chad's three years at the shrine had completely changed him, and for the better in many peoples' eyes – and Chad himself was one of those people. Even so, with his new life in place, he still couldn't bring himself to forget, or to even stop loving the girl he knew in Tokyo, Japan.

Two years had past on the ranch, and Chad was no longer looked up to as the owner of the ranch, but also the boss. His responsible handling of the property had put the ranch through the tough and easy times with near equal success and his life seemed to be turning around. Then the nightmare came. Two years and three months after he'd left Japan, in the dead of winter, when the seas were cold, the lands white with snow in the Northeast and dead in the Southwest, the United States was attacked in what could easily be called one of the most aggressive invasions in history. Hitting America from three sides, the Atlantic, the Pacific, and from Mexico, China and its allies invaded the United States – and to a large extent, succeeded. Many people didn't even know what had hit before the attack was nearly a week old. The East and West coast of America had suddenly gone black with a lack of power. Next, the East coast, from New York to South Carolina was assaulted with a heavy attack of submarine launched Nerve Gas Missiles.

In the West, along California's coast, and well into Oregon, a mix of Chinese and Indian navies commenced their attack, landing many Arabic troops on shore. At the same time, a large force of Chinese and Mexican forces came up through Mexico and into Texas, Arizona, California, and New Mexico. The attack was so powerful, so potent, and so sudden, that within the month, before Christmas had even passed, only two pockets of resistance were left to fight the invasion – of these two pockets, the largest including parts of Montana, Colorado, Idaho, New Mexico, Texas and Utah, and contained all of Wyoming. The smaller included small bits of Indiana, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Missouri. These two pockets were all that was left, and as far as original territory went, only two complete States were left – Wyoming and Kentucky. Each day they seemed to grow smaller, though by Spring the war seemed to be at a stalemate. The Chinese had the numbers and the resources, but the Common Americans, now backed into a corner, were beginning to show grit that hadn't been seen in them since the Second World War. The borders were filled with constant American guerilla attacks.

Now, despite the overwhelming appearance of things, word had it that America was slowly but surely gaining territory in the West. However, the success could not be continued without man power, for the United States Military had suffered incredible losses in the first few weeks of fighting. The Army and Airforce were so low on man power, simple mechanics had to be to drafted from the civilian population to fill the ground crew and maintenance shortage. The National Guard was even suffering on the a shortage of soldiers. The branch that suffered the most, however, was the Marines. The US Marine Corps had been nearly wiped out completely, leaving their strong fighting force widdled down to a mere 2500 men. There was no escaping it, and the new president, Frank Wieder, knew that the Draft would need to be brought back. Thousands were already volunteering for the military as it was, but then others, with draft notices, were pouring in soon as well.

Chad was one of those draftees. He'd received the letter the twenty-third of December, 1999. It was bound to happen sometime, Chad was of the right age and was a strong young man, but still, everyone at the ranch was shocked. Perhaps the person to take it all the hardest wasn't even Chad, but his mother, Rebecca. The day he received the letter from the government facilities housing the President and the high commanders somewhere in Montana, Rebecca Kumada was the first to see it, the first to cry, and the last to stop crying. Ko and the other hands were distraught and worried for their boss. But they had others to worry about as well. Family friends had volunteered, been drafted or simply ran from the war. Then, two weeks after Chad's drafting, Dan too was drafted.

As for Chad, his mind was set on trying not to be afraid. Riding on a bus to the make shift boot camp near Jackson Hole, Wyoming, Chad thought about so many different things to worry about he'd managed to get himself sick once or twice on the four our trip. He was worried about his family, his ranch and his friends, he worried that he wouldn't come out of this whole ordeal alive, and then he worried about Raye. He wondered if in this terrible happening if she would be safe in Japan. He knew his history, and history told him China would most certainly have bad blood with Japan from past wars, and that fact definitely worried Chad.

However, upon arrival at camp, his worries were stripped away by a sight that dropped his jaw open and widened his eyes. As the bus exited the highway and turned onto the dirt road that lead into the camp, Chad saw several huge being standing still, like giant statues, on the South side of the camp. They were humanoid giants, standing easily 50 feet tall, give or take a few. They all appeared to be the same type of what was obviously a machine, and they were built in a way that made them look lumbering and awkward. Squares and cylinders of different shapes, molding into each other seamlessly with bolts and joints made up the torso; great spheres, looking like giant Lego joint pieces made up the shoulders, and the arms, like the legs, were made up of more polygon shapes. The head was an oddly shaped, rounded cylinder that narrowed gradually from top to bottom, and the font, which could be the face, was simple yellow screen.

Chad had seen these things once before, at a Frontier Days air show in Cheyenne. He'd been fascinated by them and still was, apparently. They were called Mobile Suits, and these were MS-11's, code named Leo. They were also of British design, and a result of cooperation between the US and Britain in the 1980's. China also had Mobile suits, and so far they had proven to have several types. First was their CU-3 Zaku, a response to the MS-11. The Zaku, thus far, had proven to be a much more effective suit than the Leo, but it still wasn't the worst the Chinese nightmare had to offer. Next was the CU-17 Serpent, a terrible, legendary suit of massive power. It was slower than the Zaku, but its fire power made it the bane of any American pilot. The Zaku only carried a large caliber machine gun, which shoot a 45mm round. The Serpent's weapon was a giant Gatling gun, also 45mm, which was covered by a shield. The rapid fire and tenacity that seemed common among Serpent pilots was something be feared, and also something the old Leo was no match for.

Upon arrival, Chad was pushed and shoved out of the bus along with about twenty other men around his age, if not younger. Immediately Chad was greeted by a massive brute of a man, dawning army BDU's and a fowl mouth. Without even saying a word, Chad had somehow managed to earn a full out verbal assault by this monster. His name was Sergeant Gromer, and that was all they needed to know at the moment, aside from his proud statement that he was in the Marines for twenty-five years. That boasting earned a quick snap by one of the recruits.

"So if you're such a proud Marine, sir," the young man belted out, "Why aren't you out there fighting instead of yelling at us?"

Every eye was on the man who said it. He was a mid-height man with short, brown hair and thin wire rimmed glasses.

Sergeant Gromer's face was red in a half second flat, and with the color came the look of Satan himself within the eyes of a human being. He marched over to the young man and smirked, "And who might you be?"

"Melvin Renaude, sir, reporting for duty," the young man stated proudly, "Just came all the way from Japan this winter to volunteer!"

"I could care less where you came from, buddy boy. But I _am_ shocked and appalled that you have a name. The last I knew, they didn't give horseshit a name. We just called it horseshit and left it on the ground." Gromer belted.

"And last I knew, Sergeant," another man spoke up, "People didn't waist breath yelling at horse crap either."

The man that spoke was Chad, and through his shaggy hair he was glaring at the sergeant with a cold stare. Gromer took note of it immediately and within moments he was out of Melvin's face and into Chad's.

"Well, you're in boot camp now, boy," Gromer screamed, "And here, it's my job to yell at horseshit, bullshit, dogshit, lizardshit and whatever other kind of shit the army decides to pick up. And so far it looks like I got myself one massive pile! Speaking of different kinds of shit, congratulations, you just got yourselves some new names. I could care less what your name is. The name your mother gave you is now null and void, and you are now officially dogshit. And you," Gromer looked to Melvin, "You are gonna be my little horseshit. And I think I'm going to have a lot of fun shovelin' this pile of lazy-ass trash into shape!"

When a drill sergeant tells someone he's going to whip that particular person into shape, it would be a wise decision on anyone's part to believe the sergeant and disregard whatever it is the other person is thinking. Sergeant Gromer's promise was no exception by any means, and that went double for Chad Kumada and Melvin Renaude. From day one both of them were primary targets for Gromer's abuse, which included everything from the simple push-up, to the degrading insults to, to the miles of marching alone in the frigid Wyoming winter.

By now two weeks had passed since the beginning of military training for Mel, Chad and the rest of their squad; and by now both Chad and Mel were beginning to stick out like a pair of sore thumbs. That is not to say they did not beforehand, but now they stuck out in a different way. It was a way that surprised most, and really surprised the pair of men themselves – they were becoming stronger, one could say braver, even. They were growing into roles they never thought they would have before. They had been torn down in the first week from human beings to worthless pieces of trash. Trash is what they felt like, emotionally and physically. Yet this was the way for things to play, it was, and still is, the way a soldier is made. The squad was dismantled from the bottom up then rebuilt as soldiers. Gromer's efforts were showing their pay off by now as the men started to work not as individuals in competition to impress, but as soldiers who relied on one another for victory. Two trainees, however, began to show promise for more than the role of simple grunts. Two men already, if they kept their performance up, had promotions waiting for them at the end of camp. Chad and Mel were growing into leaders.

On this particular day, a sunny, blue-skied winter day, the obstacle course was being run. The men had to run two at a time through a series of obstacles designed to promote agility, strength and even mental toughness. With snow all about them, a frigid wind blowing against their bare faces, and particles of ice punching invisible needles into their skin, the men began their run pair after pair. Chad was in the lead with his partner, Mark Gallo, a young Italian man from the sticks of southern Illinois. Mel was right behind him with Josh Howard, a blonde, stocky Missourian. Behind the two pairs was the rest of the line of about forty men, all hoping to get the whole ordeal over with in the correct amount of time. If the time limit wasn't met, the entire squad had to run the course over again.

Ducking, leaping, crawling, climbing, and running, Chad burst through the course with speed gained by his experience of the course three times before. He was soon at a line of tires, which he and Gallo both ran with minor difficulty. Then they met the barbwire covered ditch, an indent in the ground that the two needed to hit the dirt and crawl through. Here Chad inadvertently got ahead of his partner by diving into the snow blanketed ditch head first, barely passing between the first boundary of wire and the ground. Gallo got on his belly and crawled through as fast as he could, unable to catch up with his buddy. All the while Chad was yelling back at him, screaming encouragement and urging him to continue.

"C'mon, Marko!" he called, "Move it!"

"I'm moving! But your diving into this stuff didn't help the situation!" Mark returned.

Chad got up and out of the wire laden ditch, "Shut up and move! Let's go!"

The leader of the two then headed for the Wall, a log wall ten feet high which employed thick rope to scale. Chad leapt and grabbed the rope, slamming his boots to the wood and advancing upwards and over the wall. He waited a few moments, catching his breath but also allowing Mark to grab the rope. One his friend did so, Chad grabbed the rope and pulled. Two weeks ago it may not have done too much. But his arms had grown at an incredible rate, as had the rest of his body. His increase in brute strength was amazing, able to be seen in his everyday appearance, let alone his actions. He tugged at the rope and held on, giving Mark the boost he needed to catch up without a serious delay of time.

Simultaneously both jumped down and sprinted for the finish line, coming in more than three minutes under par time. Chad looked back to see Mel and Josh join them. He waited longer, not seeing anyone else come over the wall for a while. This two others came, and finally another pair leapt over. It was taking too long, and Chad knew it.

Taking the initiative, Chad hopped u once and sprinted back to the starting line. There was room for a third person to go through, and he'd do the course again for his team if that was what it took to over come this trial after so many tries before. He burst back into the pack, passing pairs as he did, but also turning and barking at them to continue, to hurry, and to never stop.

"C'mon guys! Get used to the cold, we'll be fighting in it soon enough. But you gotta get to the fight first, and that means getting through this stupid course, now move!" And so he continued, rallying every pair he passed, helping those that fell to their feet, nudging those that slowed and inspiring those who were not trying hard. Soon however, Chad got his own encouragement as he began to hear someone yelling behind him. As he came to the barbed wire ditch a second time he turned to see what was causing the ruckus. There, several pairs behind him, was Mel Renaude, doing the same thing as Chad but in his own way. Mel had also improved on his physical abilities. While Chad was bulkier and taller, Mel had toned out and bulked up some as well, turning into one of the men of the squad in the best shape – he too was passing the pairs with ease.

By the time the men had all gone through, about thirty seconds under the limit of time, Mel and Chad had run the course a total of three times, and they had purposely lagged behind together to push on the stragglers of the squad. Both of them came through the finish line in dead last, panting and heaving loud breaths. Their lungs hurt, their cheeks were bright red and they couldn't feel most of the appendages on their bodies.

"Well, I gotta say I'm a little surprised at the fact any of you made it past that course in the first place – but under par time, every single one of you did alright for once," Gromer barked into the group of panting men, checking his watch, "Everyone go get yourselves a hot shower. Everyone, that is, but Dogshit and Horseshit. You two get to spend some time with me."

Everyone looked at Chad and Mel with a sorrowful face but soon made their way for the barracks in a slow, synchronized walk. The two commanded to remain, however, could only slump and continue to take hearty, painful breaths. Gromer advanced onto them and stood over them with his usual cocky, straight-backed stance.

"You two are still the sorriest pieces of trash I ever did see. You two managed to do something as stupid and insubordinate as taking the course three times without orders to do otherwise. And will you idiots stand at attention when I'm talking to you?" the sergeant growled.

Chad and Mel, swallowing a breath each, stood at rigid attention, straightening out their legs and setting their arms at their sides. They tried hard not to ruin their stances by breathing hard, and their pulses soared as the lack of recovering breaths and the ice cold air tormented their bodies.

"But I must say, boys," Gromer's tone softened, "It was also an exemplary deed of leadership and effort to work as a team. Congratulations Kumada, and Renaude, Week Two is now over, and you two just got your names back."


	2. Chapter 1  Call of Duty

**_Chapter 1 _**

**_Call of Duty_**

Boot camp was in the past. To be exact, it was two days in the past. After only two weeks of basic training Chad and Mel elected to proceed the rest of the way in tech training to become Mobile Suit mechanics. Both of them wanted to pilot, but both didn't have the college degree they needed to get the commission, and the commission was needed to be a mobile suit pilot. So, they both decided to become mechanics and get as close to the machines that fascinated them as they could. Graduation came and went and the military wasted no time in getting the men to where they needed to be. Specifically, Sergeant Kumada and Sergeant Renaude were both transferred into the Marines, and stationed with the 4th Division, 8th Armored Battalion, 3rd Mobile Suit Platoon in Denver, Colorado.

Denver was now the heart and soul of America's military forces, and the last stronghold for the United States. The city was set up as a fortress by now and it was justified to do so – if Denver fell, it was safe to assume the entire Rocky Mountain region did as well, leaving only the small, unstable patch in the Southern states. The 3rd Platoon, one blessed with a compliment of three MS-21b GM mobile suits, was entrenched on the northwestern corner of the city, charged with defending an area of about eight city blocks. Their set up at the entrenchment really wasn't bad. Engineers were able to turn a large parking lot and a local supermarket into a makeshift base, complete with a hanger and barracks.

It was about noon on another cold day, the 30th of December, and that was the time when Chad and Mel would both get back from their early lunch and begin maintenance on the GMs for their afternoon repairs. As they both slaved away, they talked, as they always did.

"You know," Mel began, breaking a tormenting silence fifteen minutes into the check up. He'd found a kink in the left hip joint of the mobile suit and was kneeling to get into the mechanics at just the right angle with his tools, "We're really pretty lucky, Chad."

"Compared to what? I could be home right now. Instead, I'm stuck here in the freezing cold, trying to work with num hands on a machine that's touchier than a girlfriend with PMS." Mel growled as he worked inside his machine's cockpit. Both suits were on their backs, which was the only way all three could fit in the market's area. They would work on one each while one stood on guard outside, then both would work on the last mobile suit to come in.

"Actually," Mel grunted as he loosened a stubborn clamp to a wire, "I meant compared to the soldiers and the guys who want to pilot these things. I mean, we don't get shot at and we still get to work on the machine based off the Gundam itself!"

"I suppose," Chad admitted, "But didn't we both want to pilot these things in the first place? Then again," he paused, "Who doesn't."

"My friends in Japan for one," Mel said as he hopped out of his complete cockpit, looking to the large door where the two pilots waited with hot coffee for their suits to be finished, "All done guys, come on in and get these things outta here."

Chad caught up with Mel, who had made his way to the coffee maker, which was set on a shelf that had once been pat of the store's deli. Both got a mug full of the steaming black liquid and drank contently as the pilot of the last GM, also the leader of the platoon, maneuvered his suit onto a mechanical platform that slid along the ground, pulled by chains underneath. The platform would then bring the suit inside and Chad and Mel would get to work.

Chad took a sip of his coffee, "What was that you said about Japan?" he asked.

Mel tweaked his lips as he leaned on the counter behind him, "Eh, Molly and a few others weren't too happy with me leaving."

"I can see that. They probably had no idea what was going on here anyway. How is Molly anyway? Heard from her?" Chad asked his friend.

Mel shrugged, "Alright I guess. Haven't heard from her since I left Japan. She and Serena were both concerned, but Molly was more upset than worried I think."

"Maybe she was upset because she was worried?" Chad asked, "Man, you're lucky. I'd kill for a girl who'd worry for me."

The suit rolled in and the pilot opened up the cockpit in the torso and stood up from the seat.

As Mel walked forward to the suit, Chad gave a friendly, half-hearted salute, "We'll have her done in a second, Major Tucker." He belted up to his commander.

"Thanks, boys," Major Matthew Tucker told them, "She's all yours."

Tucker was a robust, friendly and respected, red haired, blue-eyed pilot from Texas. He had reached his rank over time and had experience as an F-15 pilot in the Gulf War. By now he was going on thirty-five, and his age, experience and people skills earned him a respected and well-liked position as the platoon's leader.

"Oh, and hey," Tucker said as he leapt down from the suit's chest. He strode forward and met the two sergeants on their way to his machine, "Chavez says the engine in the sonar tank is sounding funny.

Would you mind taking a look at it?"

"Not at all, Major," Chad smiled, "Anything else, sir?"

"Naw, that'll be all, guys. Keep it up for us, alright? You're keeping us alive out there if something happens." Tucker grinned and nodded as he departed.

"Yes sir!" the two mechanics belted out at the same time. They then rushed up to the GM and got to work. Tucker had that quality about him – he could inspire and motivate anyone.

With their attitudes adjusted to the task ahead, the mechanics got to work. In truth they enjoyed working on the GMs, despite their lack of experience. Their technical training had only been two weeks long, but they were blessed with good teachers and given many chances to work with their hands. Mel, being the walking brain that he was, caught on to the ideas very quickly and his understanding was able to help Chad get his job down better. At any rate, they were decent mechanics and always got the job done and always on time. Part of their success could be given to the MS-21b GM they worked on. It was sleeker and tougher than a Leo, being based off America's first high performance suit, the MS-21 Gundam. The GMs were simple in design and had over a decade of trial and error experience put into them; they were relatively cheap for a mobile suit, and had a satisfactory mix of firepower, armor, and mobility. In short, the GM was America's trump card in a desperate situation. Most of the GMs were a dull a tan color with red on the feet and over the chest, though these Marine types had blue instead of red. Their heads were more human than the Leo's and they were more squared off. The lack of curves and graceful cylinders and spheres like that of the Leo cut down greatly on cost and gave the American series of suits a unique look.

Chad slid into the cockpit once he had climbed up and onto the ready suit. He turned on the system and checked everything out, running a manual diagnostic on the machine.

"Hey, Mel, looks like we've got a kink in the Minovksy particle array." Chad called with a groan.

Mel rolled his eyes, "Great, what happened?" he said as he made his way to the cockpit, "Wait for me, I'll check it out, Chad. Can you work on the legs down here then? The right knee needs to be checked."

Chad began to get out of the cockpit, anxious to get out of the situation involving the particle array. He slid out of the seat and onto the chest of the machine as Mel climbed up and hopped into the cockpit.

"I don't even get that those things are," Chad said as he hopped from the chest to the abdomen to the hip area.

"What things?" Mel asked from his position, working with the onboard keyboard to find the problem.

"Minovsky particles."

"What?!" Mel screamed as he jumped up, poking his head out to look at his friend. His eyes were wide and disappointed, "You mean you work on these things and you don't even remember THAT?"

Chad jumped in surprise at Mel's reaction, the scolding reminding him of Raye's tendencies back in Japan. He was on the leg at the time, between the GM's hip and its knee. It was a tight walk to begin with and the surprise from Mel's yelling sent Chad onto one foot then tilting to one side and finally into the air as he fell straight off like a scared lemming from a cliff.

He crashed into the chest of tools and spare wiring between the legs of the GM with all the noise and clashing that would be expected from such a climactic stumble. Tools flew into the air, and Chad had to fight for a few moments, thinking he was about to meet his end at the hands of some overly aggressive wire that had wrapped around his neck.

"Serves you right for not learning!" Mel barked with a chuckle.

Chad stood up, rubbing the part of his body that took the brunt of his fall – namely his rear end, "Yeah, I'm fine, Mel, thanks for asking."

"Anytime. Seriously though, you ok?"

Chad grabbed a step ladder that lay where he'd fallen and used it to get back on the leg, "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll feel that in the morning though," once he was up he looked at Mel, making his way again to the knee of the GM, "So tell me about the particles already."

Mel shook his head as he lowered himself back into the cockpit, yelling out so his partner could hear him, "They're sub atomic particles that disrupt electrical equipment. It's the reason we can't use long range missiles anymore."

"Right," Chad nodded, "Mr. Chin used a pair of particle super generators to attack us, didn't he?" he asked, referring to China's attack.

"Yep. One on either side of the US. Took out all the power from New York to the outskirts of Denver. The mountains blocked the other side from reaching Cheyenne and the rest of the Rocky mountain range." Mel narrated, "Took out the defense systems and our ability to do anything, from communication to fight back."

"And that'd be why we're here." Chad nodded as he worked on the knee, "Sorry Mel, I'm just not the mechanical type. I was born to play instruments, not fix them, you know?"

"You want to be a pilot then?" Mel asked as he finished up with his repair.

"If I had to fight? Yes, I'd want to be a pilot." Chad admitted, "All green here, pal."

"I'm done too." Mel said as he hopped out and got to the floor with ease. Chad followed by carefully getting down from the leg. They signaled for the suit to be taken out and it was done so.

"Someday, Mel," Chad said as he watched the GM roll out, "Someday I'll pilot one. And then we'll see what she has to say."

Mel tweaked an eyebrow, "She? Chad, are you talking about Raye?"

Chad sighed, grimacing that he'd let a word about her slip from his lips. He turned around and headed for his bunk in the storage room for the one-time deli.

"Chad!" Mell followed, "Well? Do you mean Raye or not?"

"Leave it alone, Mel, just leave it alone." Chad said as he made it into his make shift barracks. He grabbed the side of his bed on the left side of the room and with one pull and jump he was in the netted bed, which was really more like a tight hammock. As Mel scratched his head, Chad closed his eyes and went into a light sleep in minutes.

A slow, deep whistle ripped through the air then disappeared into silence. Half a second later the ground quaked as a deafening explosion rocked the world around Mel and Chad, shaking them out of sleep. Both were in their cots at the time, and Chad made the first attempt at getting up accidentally as the explosion shocked him out of bed and to the ground.

"Holy cats," he grumbled as he rubbed his now sore head, trying to keep his sleepy eyes open, "What is it with me and falling off things today?"

"What was that?" Mel said with a tired groan, turning on a mounted lamp he'd gotten a hold of the day before, "Somebody shooting something?"

The whistling came again and another explosion shook them from the ground up. Both looked at each other with wide eyes and as Mel hopped out of bed, Chad slipped into his jacket and ran to the door. There Major Tucker, who seemed calm, met him but his eyes were anxious and intense.

"Good, you're up. We're under attack, guys. Get to your stations. Go!" the major commanded. Being the only building with hot coffee, Tucker had been in the "hanger" enjoying a tin mug when the explosions had hit. Tucker had told the two men that he had a hard time sleeping when the enemy was nearby. Chad and Mel both could only assume that the Major's claim was an earnest one.

Tucker turned and ran for his mobile suit, which was outside. When the suits were not in use or in repair they were set in a kneeling position under a camouflaged net that worked as both a shelter and hiding spot for the machines. Mel and Chad followed him in a sprint, their rifles in hand. They were to head for a sandbag wall with a .50 caliber machine gun set up in the middle of it. Their job as reserve combat soldiers in this particular outpost was to man that machine gun to help defend the city as best they could.

On the way to their position, outside the hanger, Chad looked to right and stopped suddenly, Mel running into him and knocking both of them to the snow covered ground. The night was alight with fire and ash, and explosions were going off all over the city. The explosions were not the main concern, but rather it was the fire that was in front of them. Both of them stood up slowly as they looked at the destruction before them, mouths agape and worry striking their minds. The main barracks building was in flames having taken a direct hit from whatever it was that was causing the explosions. That building held the infantry and the pilots.

"Oh no," Mel said.

Chad looked back as he saw Tucker's suit come to life, but noted the other two were still there, "The pilots! Where are Zoma and Taggart?" he asked in frightened concern. He was shaking, and it wasn't from the cold. Mel was shivering as well, and they both knew why – this was their first sight of a real battle, and both had a feeling they were about to get a bigger, even worse taste of it.

Mel continued to watch the fire helplessly, and then narrowed his eyes as he saw something moving. It was a silhouette coming from the flames.

"Hey! I see someone!" Mel cried out, "Look!"

Chad looked where Mel pointed and nodded, "I see him!" he said as they both got up and ran for the person. As they neared quickly, they saw it was a man who seemed to be all right except from his left arm, which he was holding in pain. They finally reached him, finding the man to be Diego Chavez, a staff sergeant from Arizona, though he was born in Mexico. He was also the sonar tank driver.

"Chavez!" Mel yelled out, "What happened?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the man returned through his Spanish accent, "Artillery hit us. I got hit by shrapnel, I think, but I'll be ok."

"And the pilots? We need to get the suits mobilized!" Chad asked, "Are they still in there?"

"Already checked. Their room got the direct hit, Kumada. The pilots are all dead." Chavez yelled, trying to stay calm.

"Not all of them, Tucker was with us when it hit," Mel told him, "Can you still drive the tank?"

"You bet," Chavez said as he saw Tucker's GM moving up toward the edge of the outpost. All three turned to the GM as it fired several rounds from it's 100mm machine gun into the night, one of the bullets being a tracer. The three watched the tracer round as it glided into the dark hulk of the nearby mountains. It was then they all noticed the mountains looked like it was alive with fireflies. Large, pink fireflies, making their way down the mountain, bobbing up and down, side to side as they did. Tucker fired again, and one of the fireflies disappeared as an explosion ignited from the mass of lights. The explosion lit up the area around it and the men could see what was around it. Hulks of green metal – humanoid machines with a Cyclops head, carrying machine guns and rocket launchers down the mountain. They toppled trees and left giant tracks in the side of the mountain.

Chad's eyes widened, "Are those what I think they are?"

"Zakus!" Mel screamed.

It hit them, all three of them, at the same time. The Zakus might be spreading out and invading the city, but even if only a few came to the outpost, Tucker may not be able to hold them off. If Tucker failed, that left the foot soldiers who didn't stand much of a chance.

Chad's body quivered with fear and panic as he tried to think of someway to survive this ordeal. He looked to Mel, who also looked scared. Chavez was already up and running for his tank by the mobile suits. The mobile suits! Chad snapped his fingers as he realized what he had to do.

"Mel, c'mon!" he said as he sprinted away toward the camo net.

"What?" Mel yelled out, but following despite his better judgment, "What are you doing?"

"WE are gonna be pilots, Mel! The others are dead and Tucker can't handle them by himself!" Chad barked.

"But we've never done it before!" Mel screamed as he ran along side his friend.

"You want to die here or go down fighting, Mel!" Chad turned to him, "I'm doing this so if I live I can say I did something with my life! How about you?"

Mel shook his head, "You're nuts…but you're right. Let's go!"

They both got to the suits at the same time. Mel took the nearest one, and Chad took the last. Both knew the system well enough from their mechanical training to be able to turn the machine on and get it to move. The finer parts of battle, however, they'd have to learn in a trial by fire. Yes, a trial by fire. Raye was all about fire, Chad remembered.

"Watch me now Raye," he growled as he climbed into the seat. He strapped himself in and turned on the system, the cockpit closing and sealing around him. The screens that surrounded him in front and to the sides turned out and gave him a crystal clear view of the base. He was now the pilot of the GM, "Watch me. I'm going to do something for once, and then we'll see what you think!"


	3. Chapter 2  Mile High Rumble

**Chapter 2 **

**Mile High Rumble**

Thank the Lord the cockpits were heated. That was the first thought that came into Mel's mind as he hopped into the seat of the GM he'd chosen to pilot. The interior of the machine was a comfortable temperature, but he was still shiver. It wasn't that he was cold, but that he was scared. Mel had come into the army with the intention of becoming an engineer or some kind of mechanical support officer. Becoming a mechanic for Mobile Suits was perfect, in his eyes. He didn't mind working on the machines that would shoot the enemy, but he wasn't sure he could be the one to pull the trigger. After all, how could someone like him be a good soldier? He had always been a "nerd" of sorts; people called him such, and he believed it for himself. It was his lot in life, he had determined, and he would remain that way.

Raising his hand in front of him as the many lights of the cockpit turned on around him, he stared at his own appendage. Could this trembling, pale hand kill somebody? Could it possibly be the hand of a warrior? He honestly didn't think there was a way in hell. However as he began to feel more and more hopeless, the loose sleeve of his jacket fell down his arm, sliding to the mid-forearm. All his jackets had done so in the past, he was too skinny to prevent it. Yet his coat had stopped where most had simply gone past. All of his long sleeved shirts and jackets would always fall to his elbow. This jacket, however, could not, and he suddenly was reminded why. He gripped his arm with the other hand and squeezed. He felt his arm, feeling the thick bulk of muscle he had added over the last few weeks. That was right, he may not have wanted to be a warrior, but he had been training for it.

"Go for it, Melvin," he told himself, swiping his hands down to the controls of the GM, "At least try." Yes, he would try. That's what Molly always told him to do. Just try.

The main control for movement in the GM was a mix between a jet fighter and a Ford Mustang. His hands met joysticks on either side of him. Each joystick controlled the arms and the body. It wasn't all manual, the basic movements like grabbing, balancing, and the finer points of turning were controlled by the GM's powerful computer. All Mel had to do was control the speed at which he moved, where he moved, and actually aiming and firing of the weapons. Three pedals at the pilot's feet controlled the speed and the main movements. One, the farthest to the left, controlled the large thrusters on the GM's back. The thrusters, delivering too little thrust for flight, were for jumping and scaling obstacles. The middle pedal was for forward movement and the pedal to the right was for back tracking.

As far as weapons went, the MS-21b had several. First was the main weapon, the MSG-006 100mm Machine Gun. If the mobile suit were a person, the MSG-006 would be most like a submachine gun with its size. It was fed by a box that was attached to the bottom of the gun just in front of the trigger action. The barrel started with a perforated cylinder that narrowed into the main barrel. Every GM carried three ammo boxes, with one GM carrying a backpack that held more ammo for the others to get to.

Next was the head Vulcan cannon. Two cannons were placed in the head, one on each side, and fired in an alternating pattern. Each GM only had about five hundred rounds, making it a close range or a last ditch effort weapon. Finally came what was possibly the most feared weapon a GM had. The MSS-002 Beam Saber was feared because a pilot who knew how to use it could take down a Zaku with one swipe. It was designed as a hand to hand weapon and was stored in the shield of the GM, typically attached to the left arm. It was comparable, in many ways, to the Light Sabers of Star Wars, and used Mynovsky Particles, condensed and controlled into a certain area, to form a powerful, extremely effective beam of energy. A final note may be that all weapons that were hand held did not have triggers or buttons, per say, but rather then they were handled, a link built into the palm of the GM's hands would activate the weapon and the program for it inside the cockpit. For example, if a gun were handled, the pilot would get a display for locking on and firing at targets. If a beam saber was handled, the pilot would simply be piloting by feel, perception, and guess work to hit his target.

As powerful as the GMs were, Mel thought, none of that power helped calm his nerves. He would try all right, but he had a terrible, frightening feeling about it. AS both GMs turned on, the pilots managed to make them come to life and stand up among the fiery chaos around them. The visors that looked like stylistic, single lens sunglasses indented into the eye area of the head, suddenly went aglow as the suits stood. The entire machine hummed as it rose from the dead, and suddenly Mel seemed to calm down. The power he'd heard of wasn't a lie! He could feel it surging through him, as if he was indeed part of this machine now. Suddenly, however, his train of thought was scrambled as Tucker's voice, seasoned with his Texan accent, burst through the GM's com-link.

"Zoma, Taggart, glad you could make it. Hurry up and spread out, they're coming in and coming fast. Zoma, you take the west wing of the post. Taggart, You…" he was interrupted by Chad's solemn voice.

"Zoma and Taggart are dead." He said. Chad flexed his hands as he lay them down on the controls of the GM. He took a deep breath and manipulated his pedals below him, forcing the machine to move toward Tucker. It felt awkward at first, but seemed easy enough to get used to.

"Kumada? Is that you?" Tucker yelped, "And is that Renaude with you?"

"Y-yes, sir," Mel responded with a stutter.

Tucker lowered his head for a moment, taking a breath and letting out a deep sigh. He narrowed his eyes and nodded in approval, even though his new underlings might not be able to see him, "Well done, boys. Stick with me then, alright? We'll have to move around more, but you're no good if you get by yourself and killed."

Mel and Chad both responded with a "Yes, sir!" and obeyed immediately. Tucker had to admit to himself that he was impressed with by their knowledge of how to operate a mobile suit. Tucker could tell, simply by the way Mel's suit moved – slowly, with caution, and hesitant – that the young man was scared. He could also tell by Chad's movements – deliberate and quick – that he was either brave or stupid.

"Chad you'd better stay on my right and behind me a little bit. Just watch my flank for me, alright?" Tucker said.

Chad nodded and obeyed by piloting his suit into position. He looked around with his monitors, his eyes bolting from one screen to the next. The firefly eyes of the Zakus had disappeared from the mountains, meaning they were either hiding or they had already entered the city. Chad was able to determine, by the increasing amount of noise and rumbling in the city South of them that the enemy most likely was not hiding.

"Major, sir, do you think we'll get to shoot at anything tonight?" Chad asked.

Tucker cocked an eyebrow, then tweaked his lips, "What, you got something to prove, Kumada?"

Chad's eyes narrowed in disgust at how quickly the major had managed to figure him out. Yes, he had something to prove, of course he did! He had to prove to Raye he wasn't useless, that he was capable of something.

"If you want to impress someone, don't do it on the battle field, Sergeant. Just let the fighting be fighting and don't worry about who's watching. If you're trying to prove something to yourself, and it causes you to be reckless, you'll just get killed. Even worse, it could get others killed too. So just suck it up and wait to pull that trigger," Tucker told him, a certain fatherly tone in his voice, "And don't try to impress anyone with your fighting – kickin' don't get you no where unless you're a mule. Understand me? When the enemy comes, just do your job, and if fate has heroism in store for you, it'll come in its own time. Otherwise, just do what you're supposed to do."

Chad wanted to, but could not argue with Tucker's experienced logic. He simply slumped within his cockpit and let out a sigh, "Yes, sir." He nodded.

"Very good," Tucker spoke, "Alright, here's the deal. I've been in contact with our other outposts. The south side is already in over their heads and our mountain outposts are over run. They seem to be trying to push from South the most, but we are the Western most station left, so be ready."

The major looked to his left and saw the headlights of the sonar tank flicker in the night and begin moving. He smiled in relief now that their best early warning system was online and hopefully ready to work.

"Glad you could make it, Chavez." Tucker smiled to himself.

Diego was still flicking switches with one hand frantically and trying to get his set up working. Since Minovsky particles rendered radar useless, the US military had designed a vehicle that could fight in the heat of battle and also be used to track enemy movements. The trick was sonar, and it was employed by a five inch thick, steel stake that would be driven into the ground when the tank was stationary. The stake, stuffed with everything from a microphone to an ultra sensitive variation of a Richter scale to an actual sonar array, would allow a trained operator to listen for and find enemy vehicles and mobile suits. Diego Chavez, claiming it was his ear for music, had the talent of being able to pick up infantry movements on a good day. He could tell the difference, simply by the pitch of the vibration, between a GM and a Leo, or a Serpent and a Zaku.

Diego finally slapped on his head phones and pressed a large, square, gray button to the left of his steering wheel. This activated the stake and plunged it through the asphalt below and into the ground. He listened intently for a few moments. It took a little time, trying to sort through the battle. By now Denver was lit like it once had been before the war, but instead of street lights, signs, and headlights, the city was lit by fire. Explosions went off everywhere. There wasn't a second that went by, it seemed, that the sound of a machine gun or some sort of heavy cannon could not be heard. Several times everyone could hear the distant humming of a large gun. It was eerie when in the distance and filled the winter air with a creepy howl. It sounded like the humming of a small car's revving mixed in with the tat-tat-tapping of a high velocity machine gun. Chad and Mel found it more than enough to be frightening as whenever that hum roared through the night, either something blew up or the sounds of more American guns were silenced. That hum, to the two new pilots, was the sound of impending doom and inevitable death.

Diego and Tucker, however, knew the sound all too well. It was the sound that made any soldier cringe with fear, for many knew what was coming. It was like the rattling of a rattlesnake to a farmer's ears. That hum, that terrible, frightening hum was the sound of the gatling gun attached to the left arm of China's most feared mobile suit, the CU-17 Serpent.

"Alright, Major, I'm here," Diego called out, gripping his headphones and pressing them against his right ear with his good hand, "I've got…" he went silent for a while and Tucker waited patiently, while Chad and Mel were on the verge of panic in the silence.

"I've got…three Zakus and one Serpent within four blocks from here, directly to the south." Diego claimed.

Tucker nodded and faced his front monitor. He grimaced as he thought through his options and growled as he realized his best chance. He took a breath and spoke into his com-link, which was integrated into the GM's console.

"Ok boys, listen up. Chavez, I want you to relocate to someplace where it will be hard to find you. Don't worry about fighting, we just need your ears right now. Chad, Mel, I want you two to stick with me. We're moving out into the city." Tucker said this with a grim confidence that told everyone he didn't like their options, or the chances of survival the options presented.

"Sir?" Mel asked, fear in his voice, "Into the city?"

"Yes," Tucker returned as he began to move, "We'll stand a better chance of ambushing the enemy if they come our way. Just do it, Marine."

Mel took a gulp and began to move forward. Chad also followed and they began to walk south into the city. Their portion of the city was mostly housing and a few tall buildings. So, to effectively take cover, it meant they had to spread out, even though Tucker had wanted them to stick together. Keeping radio silence, Tucker used his GM's left arm to direct his wingmen's movements to a good spot. He sent Chad to a banking building, about five stories tall. Chad was able to maneuver that suit's back to the wall and stay there, gun ready and senses alert.

Mel was sent to an apartment building that barely gave him enough cover to remain hidden. He got his suit to kneel down and press its side to the building, denting the brick siding a little bit. He then waited as commanded, his gun also ready to swing up and fire, though the pilot seemed to doubt his ability to fire the weapon.

Tucker was between the two, kneeling behind a large house. He wasn't completely hidden, but he was willing to be found if it would keep his rookie pilots from getting spotted and killed first.

Chad took the time of hiding to observe the battle around him. To the West he could see fires raging where the mountain stations had once been. To the East, detonations were still going off in random places. Some were just small spurts of fire, others were artillery hits that hit something vital and went several stories into the air. Snow was beginning to fall now and it added euphoric feeling to the warm cockpit. As he waited for trouble to come, Chad could not help but think there was a certain dark and frightening beauty to the battle. He didn't want to move anymore, instead he seemed to just want to watch the night sky be lit with the fire of the battle, as if he were watching a bon fire or maybe fireworks. Then his cockpit shook. He thought nothing of it as the battle had him hypnotized so far. But then the cockpit trembled again, and again. Chad snapped to and began to wonder what was going on.

It wasn't a violent shaking, but it was enough to be prominently felt. It reminded Chad of the T-rex scene from Jurassic Park. That memory caused him to realize what was happening. The enemy was coming. As the vibrations became stronger, and even louder, Chad checked his gun, checking the bottom right corner of his front monitor. There the display for his ammunition and safety appeared to him. He flicked a switch on his right control stick with his thumb to disengage the safety mechanism. He was ready. At least, he hoped he was ready. His heart was racing and he was sweating in tense moments of waiting. Once the fight started, he knew, he could not hesitate, he had to pull that trigger and he had to shoot first. It was here that his first true realization of death occurred to him. He let out a sigh; a barely audible, small whimper let itself out as he did. Then he saw it. Several beeping alarms had gone off in his cockpit as he did and the computer was already working on locking onto it.

Something had suddenly appeared behind Mel's GM. It was a dark, looming figure, bulky and intimidating. The head held a bright, darting mono-eye sensor – the firefly they had all seen before. The left shoulder of the monster was a large spherical guard with three spikes running from back to front, reminiscent of a spiked ball mace. The right shoulder was armored with a square shield that started above the shoulder and bent over the arm, ending over the elbow. Chad had seen pictures of it before, and knew what it was. It was a CU-3 Zaku. The computer beeped as a white crosshair appeared over the Zaku and then flickered to red. He was locked on, but he didn't have the sense to fire. Meanwhile, the Zaku was already moving to attack his wingman.

"Mel! Look out!" Chad screamed into the com-link.

All he got in response was the sound of Mel's screaming as he panicked and tried to move

his suit desperately. His GM stood up, ramming its right shoulder into the Zaku's chest. Both suits fire, the Zaku seemed to fire out of shock, while Mel seemed to pull the trigger out of utter panic. Both fired, and both hit nothing. In fact, the Zaku's gun fired into the air as Mel's fired into the ground and then drew up, the line of fire coming straight for Chad. The bullets screamed by, and cement and snow flew into the air as the stream of fire narrowly missed Chad's GM.

"Hey! Watch it!" Chad yelled. He didn't get any response.

Mel was panicking. He tried so desperately to turn around and finally did, managing to back track as he did. He then stomped on his thruster pedal and the boosters on his GM's back ignited and lit up the area around the base like a giant halogen light bulb. His GM lifted into the air as the Zaku fired again, this time aiming, but again missing.

"Chad! Move!" Tucker's roar ripped through the com-link, "Now!" Tucker was moving himself, his GM rocketing in a low, lateral leap toward Mel's position. Chad was obeying his orders when an alarm sounded in his cockpit. The continuous bleeping signaled an enemy mobile suit nearby. He looked all around but his monitors gave him nothing. Where was it? His sensors were going off the wall crazy, but he couldn't seem to find it. Then it hit him – like a lightning strike in his head, an image shot through his mind. It felt like his entire body was being dipped in ice, and the image, there for only a split second, was a formless beast growling at him, as if it were about to eat him alive. The entire sensation seemed like it was coming from his back and without thinking, more out of desperate need to survive than reaction, he turned his mobile suit around, swinging his left, shield-wielding arm back and then forward. As his suit turned around he saw his enemy. It was a Zaku, its heat hawk, an axe shaped equivalent to the beam saber, in the air and ready to strike. Before the Zaku could finish it's strike however, the shield of the GM's arm rammed the chest area and pierced the cockpit.

The GM shield was a polygon shaped piece of armor that covered the forearm and hands, and it split at the end with two prongs in a way that could remind someone of the prongs on the end of a bulldozer's shovel. The shield crushed the cockpit, and the Zaku went motionless as its systems and pilot went dead.

Chad backed up in his machine and watched the Zaku fall to the ground. He shook with adrenalin and almost wasn't sure what had just happened. That sensation…he'd never felt it before. Was this what it felt like to be a soldier? The enemy that lay in front of him was the closest look he'd ever had of a Chinese Zaku. It was a green color and was built in a way that reminded him of a warrior in oriental armor. There was no escaping it, these things were chilling in appearance, and to fight them in life or death combat was terrifying.

Great, what happened to all that power? That thought was tearing through Mel's mind as he tried to get away from the advancing Zaku. His launch had only bought him more time as the GM's leap only took him into the building he'd been hiding behind. The Zaku reacted slowly, the pilot of the green monster not quite sure of how to interpret the GM's odd actions. This was all to Mel's benefit, not to mention his GM had landed on its back once it was done crashing through the apartment complex. He struggled to get back on his feet for only a few moments when through the darkness and dust the great, pink eye of the Zaku glimmered in front of him.

Mel screamed in a panic and closed his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed a few tears from his eyes before he was awoken from his trance of terror by Tucker's yelling. Unfortunately for Mel, Tucker had met a third Zaku that had come from out of nowhere; so, Tucker was left with only one option to help Mel. Fight the Zaku in front of him, but yell at Mel to fight his own battle.

"Fire, Renaude! Fire! Fire your weapon!" Tucker said as he did so himself, firing at his own Zaku which responded by ducking behind a gas station.

Mel snapped out of reaction, his eyes opening wide and his hands gripping the controls. Yes, Mel, he thought, fire! Fire! Fire!! In a mix of terror and adrenalin, Mel's mind finally had a clear thought and he pulled the trigger.

From the floating, thick cloud of dust that was floating about the grounded GM, a spray of tracer bullets erupted. Sparks flew all about the Zaku as the chest, head and left arm were pummeled with projectiles. The Chinese suit tried to back out of the field of fire, but it was too little too late. The 100mm shells soon blew the left arm completely from the Zaku's body and turned the head into nothing but a piece of twisted, deformed metal. Mel let off the trigger and the smoking carcass of the Zaku fell to the ground front first. Mel heard the boom of the impact and he began to take large, horror filled breaths before finally getting his GM to stand up. When he saw what lay at his feet, his breathing began to regulate.

"I got him?" Mel asked quietly, his eyes widening, stretching out his tear stained eyelids, "I got one! I GOT one!" he screamed.

"Great job, Mel!" Tucker applauded with his voice, then grunted as he rocketed to the left to avoid a spray of bullets from the last Zaku, "Now, do you think you could come and help me out? Hurry up and try to flank him, I'll keep him busy."

Mel hesitated, taking another gulp, "Me sir?" he asked sheepishly.

"Who else is gonna do it? The friggin' pope? Get out there and kill somethin', Mel! You just did it now do it again!" Tucker roared. It was the first time Mel had ever heard an angry sound come from that man's lips – and it had a big affect. It was Tucker's way. The less one yells, the more affect it has when one does. Mel didn't even answer. He just swung his GM around and walked into the abandoned neighborhood.

Chad was already out and in the thick of the buildings, trying to find a good route through which he could find the Zaku that was attacking his commander. With his first kill under his belt, Chad was a bit more confident about himself and was willing to get out and do something. That was what he wanted all right – to do something. He'd show Raye, once and for all that he was worth something.

He was passing a large house and into a street that he thought would give him a straight shot at the Zaku. His hunch proved right as he turned the corner and spotted his prey. He couldn't help but allow a shaky smirk crawl across his face as he eased his trigger finger into firing position. Then, just as he was about to lock on, that bleeping alarm went off again. He jumped in his seat and looked all around just like last time, and with the same result. All the wiser from last time, he turned around and had his gun ready to fire.

"Trying to sneak up on me again, eh?" he growled as he turned fully about. But he didn't like what he found. In fact, his new enemy didn't get a shield to the cockpit or filled for of lead. Instead it only got two words, "Oh snap!" Chad cried as he hit the left pedal and shifted his hand controls to rocket to the right and behind another large house. His reaction was well placed and he found enough cover to hide him as a stream of bright, white tracer shells blew by him. Amidst the glow was that terrible howl of a Serpent's gatling gun.

"Kumada, I just found you," Diego's voice over the com-link quietly, "Be careful, the Serpent is about a block away from you. To the West a little bit. Watch it."

Diego's bad timing, combined with his quiet calmness caused Chad to growl at first then snap into the com-link, "Thanks for telling me AFTER I get shot at!"

A few curses exited Diego's mouth in Spanish as he went silent again.

'Oh jeez,' Chad thought, 'what now? A Zaku is bad enough!' The Serpent was bulkier than the Zaku, though it looked almost identical for the most part. It was colored a deep bluish gray and both shoulders had the spiked ball shoulder guard. If it weren't for the snow making the night brighter than other times of the year, the Serpent would have blended in well with the night.

It hit Chad that if he didn't move, the Serpent would find him anyway. He needed to do something, and he might as well strike first. Yet, he had heard stories about Serpents. They weren't like Zakus – they were bigger, tougher, and a head on attack with them was suicide. Chad figured he could sneak around, but then that might let the Serpent slip past and give more trouble to Major Tucker and Mel; and to be any faster he'd give away his position in such a large machine. He kept thinking about his options and began to think about bhow the first two Zaku's were taken out. If he were to pull off a sneak attack, he might as well go all for nothing with a beam saber. But then, if he did that he'd need a distraction or an ambush point. Smoke would be nice, and he wished he could have Mel's luck and destroyed a building.

'Wait a minute,' he grinned as he looked at the house in front of him.

The Serpent continued to trudge through the houses, slowly scanning the area with both its mono-eye and its massive gun. That American mobile suit was around here somewhere, but the Serpent pilot didn't want to walk into an ambush. But as if the fates had conspired against the pilot, his thought of ambush was realized. The sound of the GM's machine gun went off nearby. The pilot jumped and turned his machine to the left toward the firing. All he saw was a cloud of smoke and dust where a two-story house once stood. Had the American pilot missed?

Suddenly, from behind the smoke, the GM's thrusters erupted to life and the mobile suit blew through

the smoke screen Chad had created with his machine gun. He thrust through the smoke and dropped the machine gun, getting his GM to reach between its left wrist and the shield. When the right hand pulled away it held a beam saber that hummed and ignited into a bright red glow. Chad roared as he thrust the throttle, positioned on either side of his hips, to full speed and the thrusters carried him to the Serpent too fast for his enemy to counter attack. The GM barely landed on one foot before Chad swept his saber across his chest and attacked the Serpent.

The Chinese machine, however, reacted quickly for such a lumbering giant. It rocketed backwards with it's own thrusters, though Chad's strike still hit something. The saber hit the left arm directly and sliced through with ease, causing the heavy gatling cannon and the main body of the left arm to fall with a great crash to the cold ground, crushing a house. The Serpent plowed through a large, one story house that slowed its get away, and Chad took advantage of the easy target as he fired his head vulcans without hesitation, piercing the Serpent's chest and head. He fired once more after the first burst, making sure the enemy would not get up. After the glow from his bullets disappeared, the Serpent's side burst into flames, detonating violently. Then, suddenly, the entire torso of the machine swelled up and blew out in a great ball of fire that caused Chad to shield his eyes.

"Kumada!" Diego's voice came through once more, "Kumada come in!"

Chad sat back in his cockpit, taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat from his face with his right palm, "This is Kumada, I'm ok. Just took out the Serpent." Oh, it felt good to say that.

It surprised Chad that he'd accomplished such a thing, and it affected others even more. The Zaku that had been engaged in a firefight with Tucker and Mel stood still finally as it saw the mighty Serpent explode into oblivion. The distraction was enough of a mistake to kill someone, and it did. Tucker took quick advantage and took aim. He was in line for the shot, and the Zaku left itself out in the open. Its side was then punctured by multiple hits from Tucker's gun, then from the back as Mel found the Zaku and fired as well. The Zaku smoked, hummed, then the glowing, pink eye faded off as it fell.

Tucker also sat back in his seat and chuckled. That was all of that detachment, he figured. He turned his head toward the com-link's receptor, "Chavez, what's the word?" he asked with a tired tone.

"That's all of them, for now, boss." Diego responded quickly.

Tucker grinned and shook his head, "I'll be, they both made it," he said to himself, "Very good. Let's

regroup at the hanger, boys. We'll hold our position there until relieved."

Chad and Mel let out a simultaneous sigh of relief and comfort as they headed back for the hanger. Both had a feeling this wasn't over, but both also felt they could handle doing their best. Fear was still there, but they had chosen when given the choice of fight or flight, and the two boys had become soldiers.

Tucker had to smile to himself as they arrived at the hanger. The battle might not end for a while, but he was satisfied that they had taken out an entire team of the enemy with two green pilots. Actually, not only was he satisfied, he was impressed. He shook his head again and smiled, proud and confident that they would see the sun when it lit the next day.

_Hope you enjoyed! I had a heck of a time finishing it. _


	4. Chapter 3  Tucker's Boys

_**Chapter 3**_

_**Tucker's Boys**_

As he scanned the horizon from the decimated city of Denver, Captain Tony Bird sighed, and let out his relief to be done with such a great battle. His mobile suit knelt behind him as he stood in ahead of his lone machine in what had once been down town Denver. The once great skyscrapers that had been erected there years before were now nothing but rubble. The city was still hazy with the dust and smoke from the battle as the debris from the fallen buildings was still floating in the mountain metropolis. Over the past three days, the entire downtown area had been decimated, and not one skyscraper was left. During the third day of fighting, the smoke, dust, and smog was so thick that all sides of the battle all had friendly fire incidents running rampant. Downtown Denver looked like something out of an apocalyptic science fiction movie; the skeletons of buildings and the mangled bodies of mobile suits lay scattered all about.

Captain Bird, however, had managed to get out alive from under the weight of the battle. Being positioned primarily in the downtown area's main outpost, he'd seen the brunt of the Chinese assault, and was even a primary factor in pushing the enemy back. Yet for now that was in the past, and Bird was just glad to be alive. Behind him was the rubble of downtown area, and in front of him was the rest of the once great Mile High City. Bird turned around and looked at his mobile suit, the machine he blamed for his survival – the MS-21 Gundam. The Gundam was the mobile suit the GM was based off of. It was a high performance suit, too expensive to mass-produce and Bird, a veteran at the controls, was still amazed at the power his machine could muster. The suit was slightly taller than the other suits, standing at around fifty feet tall, and was a bit more elaborate in design. The head, instead of a visor look for "eyes", the Gundam had two glowing polygons that looked like two green, glowing, glaring eyes. The legs, arms, and head were all an off-white color while the chest was a deep navy blue, and the sides where a human waist would be, was gunmetal black. The cockpit area was colored red and to top off the whole elaborate look, the Gundam had a golden "V" ornament held to the forehead by a red block of steel in the shape of a six sided diamond.

The Gundam could move faster, jump higher and react quicker than the other mass-production suits, and Bird was thankful, now more than ever, of the Gundam's capabilities. It carried a large shield that could protect almost three quarters of the Gundam's body at one time, and its main weapon was a rocket launcher that was fed like an over the shoulder rifle. A box magazine that was permanently attached to the main body fed the ammo, a 90mm rocket, into the action for firing and it had a capacity of about fifteen rounds. Simply put, it was a giant bazooka, which was the cause for the name, the MS M-1 Hyper Bazooka.

Those 90mm Rockets had met their mark several times over the past few days. Bird had managed to take out twenty-seven suits during the battle – an uncanny number by normal battle standards. While Bird might gloat over his accomplishment later, he was one a mission at the moment. He was scanning the city for remaining outposts.

Central Outpost was gone, he noted, as were the two mountain outposts. Both downtown stations were destroyed and all that was left was the Denver Defense HQ at the airport. Everything was in ruins, and the thick blanket of snow that covered the city seemed to make things even worse. Captain Bird was getting to the point where he felt like giving up.

"Man alive," he said, biting his cold lower lip, "Didn't any of the northern stations make it?" he asked. He'd tried to radio some of them earlier, but the Minovsky particle disruption was too great to contact anyone. All he could rely on now for finding survivors was his eyes and ears. His eyes saw nothing but ruin and snow, and his ears heard nothing but a silence that both bothered and comforted him at the same time. Then, as he was about to finish his last scanning with his binoculars, he spotted a building. Among a destroyed neighborhood, hardly noticeable in the snow and fog, Bird got a small clearing and spotted, to the Northwest, a large, intact building. He lowered his binoculars and squinted for a moment. He raised the lenses again, only to see the fog of war had covered it once more.

The captain rose to feet and turned to sprint back over the rubble and blown up asphalt. He leapt over a large piece of cement that had been blow from a large building and finally came to the edge of the platform he'd been on with his suit – part of what had been Interstate 25. He looked down and saw a team of GMs below him, their pilots also out of the cockpits and looking for surviving stations. He yelled down to them from the highway bridge.

"I got something up here!" he yelled out, his boasting catching the attention of everyone below. He heard some yelling and talking amongst the pilots below and saw them scramble for their cockpits. He yelled again, "I'm going to go check it out!" he screamed down. He then ran to his mobile suit and kicked his left foot into a stirrup that was attack to a cable bound to the cockpit. Unless the suits were laying down, it was impossible for a pilot to enter a cockpit without a large ladder, so the stirrup was there to reel the pilot up into the cockpit and allow him easy entrance.

As soon as the Gundam was running, his radio was going off. Though he could not get a hold of the stations around him, the GMs below him were close enough to get through the disruption.

"Captain Bird, you were saying you found something?" a voice from one of the pilots came.

"Yes, I have. I'm going to check it out. GMs, stay put and continue your sweep here." Bird commanded.

"Roger, Captain, continuing sweep. Good luck." The voice returned.

"You too." Bird gave a salute out of simple habit and began to maneuver the Gundam toward the building he'd caught a glimpse of moments before. Remembering which way he had to go, he turned North on the elevated highway on which he stood. In front of him the highway stretched north for miles, but immediately in front of the Gundam was a gap where the interstate road had been blown out. The gap stretched for about ninety feet, and Bird hesitated at first. He contemplated taking the off-ramp behind him, but decided that a jump would favor his use of time. So, upon pressing his foot down to get the Gundam moving forward at maximum speed, he waited for the right moment. He had to pilot by gut feeling on a jump like this, but that was the thing with mobile suits – pilots usually got used to them so quickly that machine and pilot had a tendency to become like one being after only a short time. The Gundam made it to the edge of the blown out road then stomped on the left pedal with his left foot, igniting the boosters and rocketing the Gundam into the air. His machine flew through the air to the amazement of all who saw it and landed perfectly on the other side of the gap. Bird smiled to himself and patted the console in front of him, as if he were patting a faithful steed, and continued on his way north.

For a day and a half Tony Bird and his Gundam had been stuck in the downtown area of Denver. On the last half of the second day, the Americans were able to get a solid foothold in and began a large push. The push continued all day and well into the night. The army's Colonel Robert Grihps, of 1st Division, was the man in charge of Denver's defense and had the presence of mind to keep a few units in reserve. The morning of February 2nd saw the original force that pushed the Axis forces back get relieved by Col. Grihp's reserves. By evening, the Axis was is full retreat south, back to their base in Albuquerque, New Mexico. For the Second Axis it was a long trip only to find failure, and for the Americans is was a major victory – the first for the US in the war.

Captain Bird was one of the original pushers that were relieved. Now, with a solid day's rest under his belt, he was ready to begin his work on the 3rd of February, and begin he did. Twenty minutes after he had made the jump across the I-25 gap, he was on the off-ramp that would take him to the outpost was almost certain he'd seen.

Looking to front monitor, he used his right side keypad to bring up a digital map of Denver and the outposts it had once held. If he was right, the outpost he was looking for at the moment was Station #4, in the Northwest part of the city. This part of the city was far different than the battlefield Bird had just come from. It was an urban area, abandoned before the middle of January had come around. Most residents that hadn't fallen under Second Axis control had fled north, some to Wyoming, other to Montana. Most, however, went all the way into Canada, which was offering full support by now. From what Bird understood, it was the Canadians with their MS-11 Leo, MS-15 Ares, and MS-12 Cancer teams that were making good progress against India and China in Oregon and Washington.

Bird closed the map and continued on, heading straight west and looking all about for any survivors. Aside from a trampled or blown up house here and there, didn't notice anything out of the ordinary at first. The fog of war was clearer here and he could now see the building he had spotted nearly half an hour earlier. As he neared, he began to see more and more destruction around him. The neighborhood began to transform the further west he went, going from relatively little damage to more and more destruction, until finally he arrived in a part where he couldn't even tell what section of the city he was in. Artillery craters perforated the ground like Swiss cheese. Houses, gas stations, businesses and other small buildings were wiped from existence by some sort of mass firepower. It was the same in all directions, and he could not see an end to it. Yet, somehow, in the middle of all this, as if it were the eye of the storm, that large grocery store turned military outpost was still there, almost untouched.

"Good Lord," Bird whispered to himself as he shook his head in disbelief, "Could these guys have had it as bad as we did downtown?"

He swallowed his worry and in a call of hope, spoke into his comlink, "To any an all American soldiers in the area, this is Captain Bird of the Army 1st Division Mobile Suit Unit, if there are any survivors, please come in. I repeat, if there are any survivors, please respond." Nothing.

He sighed, realizing it would have been too good to be true. Then, after what seemed like a long silence, Captain Bird stopped his machine in the snow-covered parking lot of the outpost. He shook his head once more as he looked at the destruction of the neighborhood. It was as if a bomb had gone off from where he stood and the explosion had ripped the neighborhood apart all at once.

"For a single outpost, they sure put up one hell'uva fight," Bird said out loud to himself.

Suddenly, in a tiny segment, the sound of static ripped through the air of the cockpit for a split second. Bird bolted his head to the side and looked down at the comlink.

"This is Captain Bird of the US Army 1st Division Mobile Suit Unit, is anyone out there?" he asked once more, his heart racing with hope.

"You know, it's been over 150 years since the Alamo and one thing has yet to change," a voice came through, full of cheer and the sound of both healthy body and spirit. The voice, and its accent, was unmistakably Major Matthew Tucker's, "Ya'll STILL arrive late to help out a Texan when he's in a big brawl!"

As Tucker finished his sentence, Bird spotted movement out of the corner of his left eye. He looked to his left side monitor in time to see Tucker's GM stand up from behind a large house. His GM was a little scuffed up, and the shield had several shell holes through it, but otherwise his machine was fully intact.

Bird took a deep breath exhaled loudly, slumping in relief as he did so, "You had me worried, Major Tucker," the captain said, "Are there any others around, sir?"

"Sure are," Tucker said with a wide smile, "Alright, boys, get up. I think we're done for a while."

With that two other GMs appeared from within the neighborhood. One, which belonged to Sergeant Renaude, was missing its left arm from the elbow down, and the other, piloted by Sergeant Kumada, was relatively undamaged aside from a single shell hole in the armor over the left knee. Bird let out another sigh as Sergeant Chavez showed up in the street directly to his right, revealing himself as well.

"So all of you made it, that's impressive," Bird said, "Take a breather guys. I'll call up some relief."

A shy voice came from the comlink and Bird looked to his right to see who it was coming from. It was Melvin Renaude's GM.

"Uh, sir?" Mel asked as he leaned against the consol with folded arms, "Is the battle over?"

"It is, Marine, its over." Bird responded, "Well done."

Chad Kumada, heavy eyed and weak from a sleepless three days, bent over and rested his head against the console below his front monitor. He took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out. It was over. He had survived, and so had Mel. He had feeling though, a feeling that told him their actions would have consequences that would cause their experiences as fighting men to be far from finished.

Different men believe in different things. In the category of fighting ability, men like Major Matthew Tucker believed in the strength of an individual person. His superior at Denver, Colonel Robert Grihps, however, believed exclusively in the power behind large forces. It could be said that both men had beliefs that could work together, and indeed in the current chain of command the right men were in the right places; but when Colonel Grihps, after accomplishing a successful defense of Denver, heard about what had happened at Station #4 on the Northwest side of town, he didn't want to believe it.

The colonel, who was into his fifties, was a thin, short, bald, but nevertheless intense man with a commanding presence. He was known for his temper and also for his stubbornness. As he looked over the short report given him by Major Tucker he shook his head in disbelief.

"Impossible," Grihps said from behind his desk inside his office, located outside of Denver at Denver International Airport, "Tucker, are you trying to create your own Alamo legend here?"

As Grihps looked at Tucker, who stood in front of him, rigid and proud, he narrowed his eyes accusingly and stood up also.

"You are trying to tell me that you, your sonar tank, and two mechanics who have never pilots a mobile suit in their lives held on to your position, on your own, for three days?" Grihps growled.

"Not exactly, sir," Tucker responded, "I specifically put it in my report that at 0200 hours we began to get hit by artillery and the pilots were killed in the barrage. My mechanics went to the controls of our other GMs and together we held the station until help arrived. However, sir, our last major encounter with an enemy was on the second day of battle at 2207 hours. We did destroy two other Zakus on the third day at 0900 hours and at 1330 hours. After that, we had no contacts with any mobile suits until we were found by Captain Bird."

Tucker's bright blue eyes peered into the dark brown orbs of Colonel Grihps, and he found nothing he could respect. Grihps was a man looking to promote his own legend, even in these desperate times. To Tucker, Grihps didn't care about his men, only about his rank and victory. Tucker had found victory under his command, but that didn't mean he had to like the man.

"I can understand the encounters and holding your position," Grihps tapped his desk, walking around it,

"But with two mechanics?"

"Renaude is a very intelligent man, Colonel, and he seems to be able to catch on to anything technical very quickly," Tucker explained, staying in his rigid position, "And Kumada is a natural pilot."

Grihps huffed out a scoff, "A natural pilot? Please, Tucker. Spare me. Mobile suits are so new there's no way."

Struggling to not roll his eyes or grit his teeth, Tucker responded, "I can't explain it either, sir. But I saw it myself. The proof is in his GMs battle data."

"So maybe he got a few kills," Grihps waved a hand as he turned around to look out his window, trying to think of some sort of speech that would make Tucker come clean.

"Look at the data, sir. He took on a Serpent one on one." Tucker remembered, telling his commander. He inwardly smiled at the reaction he got.

Grihps turned, "He did what? A Serpent?"

"With a beam saber, sir. I was engaged at the time with an enemy Zaku, but I did see it. He charged with his beam saber and disarmed the Serpent then shot it down with his head mounted Vulcan cannons."

Grihps had already made fists in his folded arms, and Tucker's comments had by now caused them to turn white. He had initially thought Tucker, being a Marine under Army command was trying to put up his own legend and get out of his current position. His story involving Kumada's skills, however, nullified his theory as he put the main emphasis on another soldier. Grihps didn't have many qualities many people could respect outside of his strategic attributes. On the other hand, Grihps did know when to admit he was wrong and submit to his own defeat. Major Tucker had a service record that suggested a humble, honest lifestyle and a heroic and faithful soldiering style. Grihps had nothing personal against the officer either, and so he had to give in.

"So, then Major, what do you suggest we do with our loss of Gil Taggart and Jerome Zoma?" Grihps asked as he turned around to look Tucker in the eyes once more.

"My suggestion, sir, would be to give Renaude and Kumada field promotions so that they may be aloud to continue to pilot within my team," Tucker said without hesitation, "We get more mechanics than pilots anymore as it is. We're short handed all over too, not just in the Marines. I will gladly train the two sergeants myself, and with their current level and abilities," he paused to think of his estimate, "I won't need anymore than a week."

Grihps took a deep breath and lowered his head for a moment. He stared at the wood desktop of his writing table and sighed, "Tucker, for your sake you'd better be right about these two." Tucker smiled mildly, trying to hide his genuine satisfaction, "You've got one week. But when you're done, I'll be putting you in the thick of it. If your two rookies can hold on to a station for three days without training, then they should have no problems on the front line!"

There are men out there that will do exactly what they said they would do, and when they said they would do it. Major Matthew Tucker of the United States Marines was one of those men. He wasted no time once he was given the go ahead to train Melvin and Chad how to pilot mobile suits. He was out the door and in a jeep heading for the Northwest Station in minutes of being dismissed. His debriefing with Colonel Grihps was in the morning of February 3rd and by evening Chad and Mel had not only been informed of their new jobs, but were also given drawn out speech by Tucker about piloting and the secrets that lied within its techniques.

It amazed Chad how Tucker, without even a full day's rest, was ready to teach and train both him and Mel. He had a hard time thinking how Tucker could have the constitution to just keep going like he did. Tucker was not young, but he was full of energy and an eagerness that reminded both of his students of a child.

The week's training was fast and hectic – hard and without stop. Chad and Mel would get up at dawn and train with their leader until nine at night. While the days were so very long, they were necessarily so; Chad and Mel had to learn in seven days what most officers spent at the very least three months learning. But if there was a man to get such a feat done, it was Matthew Tucker.

Tucker was charismatic but strict - caring but tough. He was both knowledgeable and wise. He was a leader, and despite their harsh situation, Chad and Mel loved him. He always pushed his students, but never gave them too much at once. The first day of real training, Mel and Chad learned the weapons systems and the general layout of the cockpit. As mechanics, they already knew most of it, but it didn't hurt to review as a pilot. The second day they learned the finer points of the weapons, as well as the ups and downs of mobile suit strategy.

Mobile suit strategy was, essentially, using a leap in technology to step away from modern strategy. War was no longer about wiping out armies with the push of a button. War, at least from a mobile suit pilot's perspective, was fought building to building, hill to hill, and man to man. It was similar, in most perspectives, to the combat style of the Second World War. There were no more laser-guided bombs, no long-range missile strikes, no smart bombs, since the use of Mynovsky particles made these technologies useless. It was simply back to the old-fashioned infantry style of warfare where a group of men would take objectives and enemy positions one by one. Combat was, with the exception of attacks on cities, limited to small areas, and it was often very intense and bloody.

This style of combat scared Mel at first. He didn't want to have to fight this way, he wanted to stay behind the lines and not be up front where he could get shot at. Tucker had told him that if he wanted Mel could go back to being a mechanic, but also mentioned that he'd be doing a greater service as a pilot. Mel might have been allergic to danger, but he wasn't allergic to duty. He returned Tucker by agreeing to become a pilot no matter what.

Chad was a different story. Yes, he wanted to prove something to Raye, but his want to be a pilot was also fueled by the draw of legend. Chad loved history, and he loved America's WWII history most of all. The chance of fighting in the same way the "Greatest Generation" did, while real and indeed frightening, was inviting to him. One might say it was his chance to prove his own grit through the trials of his forefathers – in other words, it was a chance at personal glory.

This strategy and style of combat, however, was not all that Tucker had to teach the two new pilots. They had much to learn, and very little time to learn it. It really wasn't knowledge as much as it was experience. Their technical knowledge was what would have taken up the bulk of time if they hadn't already known it, so all they had left, in Tucker's mind, was to teach them the essence of combat itself. Tucker had a belief, as many others did, that being a pilot was more than simply putting one's hands on the controls and driving a machine to do one's bidding. It was becoming one with the machine. The experience was not spiritual, but rather it was physical and mental, and at times even emotional. The mobile suit was a pilot's horse, as Tucker explained it. To Mel it was hard to grasp, though Chad, having a history in ranching, got the idea right away. In the days before cars, the horse was a man's best friend. It could have been said that a man's horse was more important than his gun. Others might contend such a claim, but it was still a prominent belief, and Tucker pushed it into the minds of his recruits. In a war of the current nature the mobile suit was a basic necessity for victory and in many cases survival.

The conclusions were that a pilot with this belief would become attached to his machine and in turn begin to pick up traits in the controls that he wouldn't get in someone else's mobile suit. He would develop a feel for his particular suit that in time would allow him to feel the slightest abnormality in his machine, from a sluggish control system to a small kink in the joints. With this sensitivity to his machine's state of being, the pilot would react and move with it as if it were his own body. Fighting, dodging, shooting, walking, and jumping would become natural habits and increase the pilot's chances of survival.

So, for the remainder of his allotted time to train, Tucker used the GM's simulation programs to physically train his pilots. They had combat experience already, but that was not all he wanted. Tucker knew, almost instinctively, that all pilots have natural abilities that, when unlocked, can give any pilot an advantage in battle. So, when Mel and Chad drilled, Tucker would observe them in his own GM, and he was watch carefully how each one fought.

As it turned out, Mel, though nervous in the cockpit at first, was actually an excellent shot. By the third day of simulated combat he was fire with decent accuracy with his machine gun before the computer had even locked on. To boot, he was good at firing and moving at the same time – and Tucker encouraged him to do so. Chad was, as usual, a different story from his good friend.

Chad was a natural in close combat, and Tucker both encouraged him in the skill and helped him realize what he was getting into. The beam saber was a last resort weapon, yet Chad seemed to prefer it, getting in close by constantly moving and dodging. He made constant use of his boosters to accelerate his advances and dodges. Not only did he like the beam saber of his rifle, he proved that he could use it accurately. Chad had a surprisingly reliable intuition with the weapon. His problem was that he could not use his gun nearly as accurately as Mel could, and scored only an average marksmanship rating. Despite his mild weakness with firearms, Chad had incredible reactions, and was able to pull a victory out from the heaviest fire that Mel could put out. It was something Tucker included in his final report, three days before he and his team were to be reassigned in another city.

Colonel Grihps looked sternly at the lengthy report. He leaned back in his chair as he flipped the pages one by one until he finally gave up. Tucker had written up every lesson, every improvement and every happening of every day of the training. He was thorough, he was brave, he was blameless in almost everything he did, and Grihps hated him for it.

The older man slapped the paper on his desk, looking up to Tucker, who was still at attention, and spoke plainly, "Any way you can tell me a shortened version, Major?"

Tucker smiled, "Yes, sir. They are my boys, those two are," he stated proudly, "They could be even better than the pilots they replaced."

"In the course of a week's training? Are you kidding?" Grihps sighed, rubbing his sinus region. He was getting tired of these wild happens involving Tucker's team.

"Sir," Tucker replied, "Lieutenant Kumada is a natural pilot – he's got talent with a beam saber, and I mean talent. He uses it better than most could use a sword in their own two hands. And he's quick – frighteningly quick. Lieutenant Renaude, on the other hand is an incredible shot. He took Kumada out in a simulation beyond seven hundred yards before the computer had even locked on. He has this intuition with where his gun will fire, and it's usually right. Both pilots also perform above average, for their experience level, in maneuvering – especially Kumada; the kid's got reactions that give me the shivers."

Grihps nodded skeptically, as usual, but at least he acknowledged the story to be somewhat true. Pausing for a moment, the colonel reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled a waiting paper from it. The paper held familiar text that Tucker recognized as an assignment slip. Grihps edged it towards his leading Major.

"Your next assignment," he stated, "Is the front line of the Mississippi. You will be on the West bank of the river in St. Louis. That place is humid and full of trees, unlike here, so you'll need to be ready for both urban and forest warfare." Grihps paused and readied himself for the "good news."

"And the factories up North have pumped out a new model of mobile suits specially for the Marines. It's called the MS-22 GM Marine Custom," he pulled a folder from another drawer and handed it to the Major, "The statistics are in there, and the suits will be there waiting upon your arrival. Think 'your boys' can handle it?"

"Bring on The Chin, sir," Tucker said, "My rookies will scare the pants off any Zaku now."

Grihps nodded and waved his hand, dismissing Tucker in the typical, arrogant manner. They saluted and Tucker turned and marched out in his trademark style of professionalism. Grihps watched the man exit then turned to look at the blue, Colorado sky outside his office. He stared into the sky for a moment as he pondered the things of the past few days.

"St. Louis is the weakest spot in our line," he said, thinking out loud, "Not much we can do about it, I suppose."

He took in a breath and let it out loudly, reaching behind his head with his hands and leaning back in his chair against his desk.

"Let's see how Tucker's Boys do."


	5. Chapter 4 The Gatekeepers Part I

The Gatekeepers

Mel

Most enlisted men get to become officers by working hard and proving their worthiness to become commanders. Most men do this through Officer Training School along side a college degree. Some men get it by showing leadership and special traits out in the field. Chad and I got our commissions by happening to be in the middle of a battle and doing the stupidest thing possible amidst it all.

Denver was behind us, and with it our old jobs as mechanics. I was a 2nd Lieutenant, Chad was a first, and both of us were now mobile suit pilots. I didn't mind being out ranked by the man I considered to be my closest friend; He had shown the most ability as a pilot and as a fighter. I, on the other hand, had not. I didn't have this innate desire to be a strong warrior like Chad did. I was there to do my part, but Chad seemed to have something to prove – and whether he was proving it to himself or someone else I didn't quite know, though I had my guesses.

Chad and I had been reassigned out of Denver, Colorado and dropped into the front line in St. Louis. Between the Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains the Axis had spread itself thin, and in turn made it easy for America to break through all the way to the Mississippi. We had not really taken part in the advance to the river, but we were now part of holding the line where it was. Specifically we held the line at the Western half of St. Louis, Missouri.

St. Louis was a pit. It looked even worse than Denver had after the battle there. From reports we had heard, most of the population had evacuated, though a good thirty thousand people were unaccounted for. Everyone assumed the missing were dead, hiding, or taken prisoner. In other words, the city itself was barren. We were assigned to hold what was left of a once great city. St. Louis was merely a shell now, and we were the only inhabitance. Well, we inhabited the West side at least. The East was supposedly swarming with Chinese troops and mobile suit teams.

Reports said this and that about enemy movements across the river, but I wasn't sure of it myself. I mean, I knew they were out there, but they made a pretty convincing case of vacancy with their constant silence. Of course, that illusion last about a day for me - within forty-eight hours of being at the riverfront, artillery shells from the East side ripped into the buildings on our side. Once you memorize the sound of an incoming shell, your blood turns cold and your spine shivers from top to bottom every time that sound enters your ears. I've heard it said that humans can get used to anything, but back then I couldn't see ever getting used to the whistling of artillery shells. However, by the our third day at St. Louis our team received something that took our minds off the artillery for a while.

We had arrived in the typical style of a mobile suit team - a few massive flatbed transports, with Diego's Sonar Tank in toe, rolled into town and unloaded our GMs onto the battlefield. Our Marine colors of blue torsos and white heads and appendages were the only things that separated us from the Army's GMs that sported dull red torsos against a cream color everywhere else. Otherwise we had the same weapons and equipment. That all changed one day when three more transports rumbled into our assigned area. Amongst the silence of a dead city, the diesel trucks could be heard for miles. At the time our team was resting at our "camp," an abandoned Motel 8 five hundred yards from the riverfront, and it was Chad that heard the noise first. We were both out doing maintenance on our suits when Chad popped his head out from the cockpit and looked around.

"Hey, Mel," he called loudly, "You hear that?"

I was busy tampering with my HUD and trying to get a kink out of my aiming system to make shooting smoother for myself when I heard Chad calling. At first I figured he was stuck on something in his mobile suit. He always had trouble with leg maintenance - the massive tangle of wires bugged him – and I rolled my eyes as I lifted myself from the seat and stepped out onto the platform created by the open hatch of my suit.

"What's up?" I asked, eyeing him with interest, "What's wrong?"

Chad put out his hand and waved a finger, "Something's coming." His eyes followed the horizon intently and my own eyes narrowed as my ears caught the noise. It was the unmistakable sound of a large diesel engine. It could have been a tank or a transport, and all we knew for sure was it was coming from our side of the river, though the acoustics of the surrounding buildings made it impossible to tell exactly where the machines were. We both started to scan the West side from North to South trying to find the culprits of the disruptive noises. Finally it began to grow louder and more defined. We could tell now it was heading straight for us and from time to time we could see black puffs of diesel exhaust lifting into the blue sky.

Chad finally looked over to me and I nodded with an instant understanding. Close friends are like that – many times we didn't even need to say anything in order to know what the other was thinking. I swung back into my cockpit and activated my mobile suit. Soon the hatch closed me in and my machine rose to its feet from a kneeling position. I quickly raised my machine gun to waist level and held my shield just under the barrel to stabilize my gun if I needed to fire. Chad slipped into his cockpit and soon his suit was standing beside mine at the ready.

Using his communication unit in his machine to boost his voice outside, Chad spoke, "Major Tucker," he said, his words sounding through the air loudly through two amplifiers on either side of his GM's face, "You'd better get out here. We've got company."

It didn't take much time for Tucker to come bolting out of the front entrance to our building. He rushed for his GM but stopped just under it when he heard the noise. He listened for a few moments and then wiped his brow in the humid air. Meanwhile a chuckle escaped his lips. I couldn't hear the laugh within my cockpit, but I could see him on the ground. Tucker had this chuckle that even if you couldn't hear it, you knew it was there. That was our commander for you - he could always laugh no matter how bad things got. Tucker looked up to us and signaled to stand down and get out of our GMs.

We both opened the hatch to our GMs at the same time and as I got out, Chad leaned out, hanging onto the top of the cockpit hatch with a strong arm, "What's going on?" he asked, finally stepping out and hopping into the elevator stirrup.

"Our delivery's here," Tucker said plainly as he stepped into the side street. As he did the front of a black semi truck lumbered out from another street behind the blown out buildings and into view. Behind it was a flatbed mobile suit transport. Two other trucks with the same loads followed it and the last one had an extra trailer.

"Hey, right on!" Chad grinned as he leapt onto the ground and jogged up between Tucker and myself.

"'Bout time," I said, "Just in time to get shot at, I bet."

Finally, one by one, the trucks lined up side to side and parked in front of us. Two young men stepped out from the passenger side of the lead truck. One of them stayed with the truck while the other advanced toward us. He carried a digital clipboard in his left hand and his uniform denoted Marine Corps Engineers. As he stepped up to us, he spun the clipboard in his hand and handed it to Tucker.

"Special delivery, courtesy of…" he didn't finish.

"You're late, Lieutenant." Tucker told him plainly as he took the clipboard used a capped pen to sign it, "These were supposed to be waiting for us when we got here." 

"Sorry about that, Major," the man said sheepishly, "But we ran into trouble in Omaha – engine trouble. Don't worry, I guarantee these things are a bit more reliable than the trucks are."

"Yeah, well with the wait we had let's hope so." I said. As I spoke, the three of us advanced past the engineer and to the trucks. With his back turned to us, the man grumbled and I heard him clearly mumble "Pilots…" with a growl.

Each trailer, as we discovered, carried a bulk of jagged metal, or at least that's what it looked like under the drab cloak covering it. Tiny definitions in the cloth gave slight hints to what lie beneath it. As we got to the middle trailer the engineer waved his hands to the trucks and with a loud creak and clunk, the braces holding the mysterious cargo in place released and swung outward. We stood clear of the braces, but once they had released, we all stepped up and took hold of the cloth. Tucker looked at me, and I in turn looked at Chad. We all smiled and gave a simultaneous yank to the cloth. The fabric flipped into the air and in rippling waves it fell to our feet as a large, messy pile. Chad and I couldn't help but let out jaws drop.

An hour and a half later the trucks were heading off the way they came with our GMs loaded onto their trailers, covered up and braced down. Meanwhile we all sat proudly in sleeker, more comfortable cockpits. When we shifted the legs, the mobile suits we sat in moved quicker than the GMs and with more force. With every movement we feel the sheer power of these machines – and we hadn't even held the weapons yet.

These were new models straight from a top-secret mobile suit factory somewhere in the Rockies. It was a new version of our GMs. It was more expensive and therefore could not be produced in such great numbers, but the improvements were worth the price. Every aspect of the GM seemed to have been improved in these new models. They had a name – MS-21MC GM. The "MC" stood for Marine Custom. Chad and I took a little bit of pride at the thought that we were two of only thirty-six pilots in the entire American military to pilot of these machines.

Chad found its maneuverability to be a massive improvement over the old GM type and I noted that the new computer system actually helped with repairs and improved on the targeting system. Tucker was quite satisfied, though he didn't seem surprised by anything.

As for the weaponry, we kept our GMs' arsenal, as it was still the standard issue. We did however get a trailer with two giant backpacks to be loaded onto the MC's back. All they told Tucker was that it had "new weaponry." I wanted to get acquainted with them, but Tucker insisted on a thorough system's check before hand. I wouldn't get the chance to test the weapons. It was to be a trial by fire.

After the systems checks on our suits, the whole team gathered in the lounge for dinner. MRE's weren't bad, but they got real old real fast. I had my usual – spaghetti and meatballs, while Chad munched on his preference of steak and cheese. Meanwhile, Tucker was contently chewing his Salisbury steak mixture when a knock was heard against the glass double doors outside the lounge.

All three of us looked over to see a young man stand at ease outside the door. Tucker stood up and squinted then cursed. Chad and I looked at each other oddly before standing as well and waiting by the couch.

"Just what we need," Tucker said with a roll of his eyes. We stood confused for a moment before Chad noticed the insignia on the man's right arm. It was barely visible, but it was all he needed.

Chad slumped with disappointment, "Aw, crap," he said under his breath.

"What? What's up?" I asked as Tucker opened the door. The man saluted and Tucker returned the gesture briefly.

"And you are?" Tucker asked coldly – a tone that was rare for the major.

The man smiled and nodded to us, "First Lieutenant Steven Killingsworth reporting for duty, Major Tucker!" he said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the pre-mature rejection he'd already received from Chad and Major Tucker. Either that or he was used to it.

"And?" Tucker said in the same tone as before, "Why are you here?"

"Well, sir," the man began, "I'm a battlefield reporter, I'm here to do an article on the conditions of the front line. Colonel Grihps assigned me here personally."

That explained Chad and Tucker's reactions. It was a bold move from Grihps. We all knew he didn't get along with Tucker, and we knew battlefield reporters were always being sent down to the front lines; but for him to be sent by Grihps could only mean he was meant to dig up the dirt on our commander, and looks for flaws in the two new rookies he was leading. It wasn't completely offensive, though. Not even three weeks ago we were non-coms working as field mechanics for Tucker's team. But after a little bit of heroics, and showing what Tucker called solid talent, we were officers and pilots. So it was obvious that people would be curious, if not suspicious.

"Colonel Grihps told me you might not want to coorperate Major," Killingsworth smiled, "But I assure you, sir, I'm here for the real story, the front line conditions, not to stir up dust for his Majesty."

The Majesty comment gained a small smile from Tucker. I couldn't help but chuckle. But Chad was silent. He wasn't really paying attention to the conversation, but rather he was off dreaming...or listening to something else. The thing about Chad was that ever since his first combat mission he'd been a little odd. I mean, he seemed perfectly normal, but his abilities, his reactions to things, they were eerie. In some cases, his reactions were so fast to things that you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Other times he seemed to have a sixth sense about things, and finally other times he was just very observent.

Tucker was about to speak when Chad broke the short silence, "The birds have stopped." he said. We both knew what it meant. Tucker grabbed Killingworth by the collar and drug him inside.

"You might get your story, Lieutenant, if you stay alive. Now get down on the floor." Tucker commanded.

Killingsworth obeyed and ducked down to the floor, but he looked to us in confusement, "What's going on? What do thye birds have to -"

"The birds see and hear more than we do, and with this place being a big battlefield, they learn when to get out the way." Chad said.

"So, it's tell you..." Killingsworth never got to finish as a whistle passed through the air and ended with a loud explosion that rocked our building. An artillery shell hit, and it was close by. Another came and hit close again, followed by a third and a fourth. We felt the building quake as the top floor of our building as struck. The reporter was covering his head and cowering under his arms, huddled on the floor of the hotel. He had reason as shell after shell, detonation after detonation rocked the building around them as if threatening to tear the very earth out from under him.

Being in an artillery barage is probably one of the scariest things a soldier can go through. This was not my first one - I had lived through Denver and had survived so far in St. Louis' crater pelted battlefield. But the simple fact of surviving only lets you face your fear, it does not take it away. The feeling is one of utter helplessness. All one can do is hope and pray his position isn't the next one to be hit, and if it is...one hopes and prays he is killed instantly and left to rot in a limbless shell. Facing an enemy directly is another story. Even I could relate to that in my green, inexperienced years. Against an enemy, face to face, one controls his own fate, one gives his all to survive. In a blanket of artillery, however, one has no power, no control. His only choices are to cower on the ground, like Killingsworth, or face the blasts with proud defiance, like Major Tucker, after whom we had modeled our own actions.

The barage lasted for an eternity...or so it seemed. In the end it was only a ten minute barage. But when considering the intensity of the whole ordeal, I did not know how we had not been hit. I would later find out we had been missed, many times in fact, by less than a foot. When the silence came finally, it was eerie. It was golden, sure, but it was also forboding. It did not last long as the belts around our waists all shook with a continuous, tickling temor. Attached to our belts, as pilots, were small personal computers - half palm pilot, half pager. They could be used to store information on battle, a GPS, and as a communicator through text. While they did not have the ability for vocal communication, they could be used to recieve text. On top of all of that, they were extremely powerful, each unit having well over fifty miles in range. Our mobile suits were used as amplifiers, so when we were within a few miles of them, we could actually reach out to fellow soldiers within a two hundred mile radius. These devices were known as Multi-Function Hand Held Communicators, but their thin profile earned them the name of Mini Coms, or just "Mini's."

We all picked our Minis from our belts and popped the top on them, opening up the screens. The message was clear, and troubling. Scrolling arcross and down the glowing, tiny screen was the simple message to move out.

"Chinese Forces engaged at SLO 20, line compromised, calling all available units for reinforcement. SLO 11 and SLO 5 through 1 to hold."

That was us - SLO 3 - the "SLO" was short for Saint Louis Outpost, and we were the third in line along the Mississippi, counting from South and up to the North. SLO 20 was North of us by a good two hundred miles, as each outpost was ten miles from the next in either direction. The lower SLO units, like SLO 6 or 7, would head North to help defend the line, moving into a flanking position to strengthen the backfield of the Mississippi line. In the end, it meant one thing for us. We would not be alone, but if the Chinese attacked us here, our line would be considerably weaker. I saw this faulty situation immediately, and Tucker saw right through everything.

"Damn fools are gonna give up the line," he said with a growl.

"What do you mean?" Killingsworth said as he stood up from the floor, "What's going on?"

I looked to Tucker with question and he nodded in approval. I then handed my Mini to Killingsworth and he read and partially understood, "But, that's good, right? They are strengthening the line where we need to defend it."

"But that may not be where we need to defend it," Tucker pointed out, "It could be a diversionary attack. If they decide to attack us here..." Major Tucker didn't need to finish in order Killingsworth to understand and gulp his fear down. Tucker then turned his gaze to us. Killingsworth handed my Mini back to me and I holstered it.

"Alright, boys, you know the drill. Saddle up and be ready for a brawl. We ain't goin' down without a fight, am I right?"

"Oo-Rah!" Chad and I belted with a nod and all three of us bolted for the outdoors and to our new mobile suits.

"What about me?" Killingsworth whined behind us.

"Find cover and get away for now!" Chad called back, running out the front door and heading for his mobile suit. It didn't take us long to get into our machines. I was never anxious for a fight, I knew my job, and there was now ay I would refuse to do it around Tucker or in front of Chad. Besides that, Tucker had a gift of command – he could give his men this feeling of invincibility. We knew it was just an illusion, but Chad and I loved it none the less. He was a man to be learned from, no doubt.

We were in our mobile suits and ready to pilot in a minute tops. Artillery shells continued to bombard the area around us, but a large building in front of the hotel, which our mobile suits put their backs to for the moment, protected us from getting hit upon start up.

Setting my hands on those controls, I took in a deep breath. With Tucker and Chad on either side of me, and this new Marine Custom at my finger tips, I'd have to say I was feeling more comfortable than I ever thought I could in a battlefield. I was shaking from excitement and from fear…but fear, I later found, was good. It meant I was still breathing, and it meant I could show some courage. Courage was nothing without fear.

The groan and drone of the machines maneuvering into place behind our building was all familiar. Having had time to get acquainted with our surroundings was a huge advantage on our part. Tucker had Chad and myself run drills for finding shelter and the best firing points. Chad had a spot close to the river along with Tucker, near the great Arch of St. Louis – which was no more than five hundred yards away from our position. I, on the other hand, found a clump of buildings along a broad street that ran to the river. The buildings were tall and wide, giving me plenty of protection, but everything beyond them stood only to my mobile suit's hips. This gave me shelter, as well as a great line of fire towards the river. It took me about five minutes to get into place. I was worried I had taken too long, but by the time I got there, the artillery was still coming. It meant two things – the main attack hadn't come yet…but also that this was a hardcore attack. The enemy meant business, and the hard shelling told us that the coming attack would be only that much harder.

"Dixon in position." I called into my radio, stating what had become my call sign. Tucker had given us call signs that referred to American frontier heroes. I was named after Billy Dixon, an army sharpshooter who made the Sharps Rifle famous, supposedly having killed a Kiowa warrior at one thousand yards. Chad's call sign was, appropriately, Crockett, after Davy Crockett, of course. Tucker's call sign was, as it had always been, Alamo.

"Crockett in position." Chad responded soon after.

"Alamo in position. War's hell, boys - Let's remind 'em." Tucker called to us. I nodded silently and raised my weapon. While Chad and Tucker kept the standard machine guns, I was packing my personal choice – the 30mm Rocket Launcher.

We had kept the machine guns our old GM's had used. Our Marine Customs were made to use the same weaponry, as well as some new toys that I had yet to see. It was then I remembered that weapons trunk the supply core had left for us. What did it hold? Was it anything revolutionary? Super deadly? If they had arrived on time, I might have been able to figure it out. But, of course, they had to arrive on the very day of battle. Just my luck.

A massive explosion in front of my mobile suit interrupted my thoughts. It lit up and fill my main screen in my cockpit, and I scrambled behind a building, checking around the corner to look at what had happened. A one hundred millimeter shell had hit just in front of me, leaving a crater in the street as well as a thick cloud of dust and debris in the air. The calm Missouri air let the cloud linger and hang for a moment as silence took over the dead city. The barrage had ceased, and after a moment I looked around the corner. Nothing. Only the clearing dust cloud. Then, for a split second…panic.

"Here they come!" Tucker screamed over the commlink. I froze at the call. They were coming, and I was going to have to face those horrible, frightening mono-eyed Zakus again…and maybe even a Serpent. But, then again, if Chad could…

That train of confident thought lasted maybe two seconds. I wasn't Chad. I was only brave enough to find a spot where I could hang back and pick off easy targets, like a sniper. I was the support unit. I checked the corner one last time. As I did, I saw no sign of a mobile suit, but a line of giant puffs of dust and rock rushed up the street as the 30mm shells of a Zaku's gun blazed past me. I bolted back behind the building, my chest heaving, and my heart racing.

"How many are there?" Chad's voice came out, "Mel, watch your back!"

It didn't take long. I was a ways from the river, but not too far. I braced my self and maneuvered my machine as I knew I needed to. I stepped into the street, twirled around, facing the river, and fired off a rocked before darting across the street behind another building. That was one rocket thoroughly wasted. Then, just as I settled behind that building, a cold feeling come over me, and I felt I was being watched. At the very least, something was wrong. I looked to the left, then to the right. Nothing. I peaked around the building and down the street one last time. Still, there wasn't an enemy in sight. Were Chad and Tucker in deep? Was I hanging back too much? My question was answered quickly.

As I turned back around to press my suit's back to the building, a mono-eye - a Zaku – burst from the other side of the building. It didn't know I was there, thankfully, and was surprised to see me as much as I was to see him. I yelped and punched my boosters into action. Training with a close combat lover like Chad had tuned my reactions up a notch, and I had a maneuver I had made a habit of performing.

My boosters lifted me intro a jump, and I used the suits powerful legs to send me backwards. It was amazing how much stronger everything on this suit was compared to the standard GM. It lifted me into the air much faster and farther. I let off the boosters, and just as I stopped in mid air at that middling point between rising and falling, I fired a rocket. It hit home on the Zaku's chest, blowing the upper half into chucks of metal and sending it falling to the ground.

Kill number one. I landed and took in a deep breath. Emotionally, I was in limbo. I had made my first real kill – and without panicking. I had reacted and taken down an enemy suit. I did what I had been trained to do. Pride, confidence, and fear mingled together and soon become pure adrenalin. It was that moment, watching my enemy's smoking wreckage, and feeling the rush of battle, that I knew…I was a soldier. I turned my head to look at my left screen. I now had a clear view to the river, and I could finally see what was happening. Several Zaku's were jumping the river. Turning my suit, I targeted one of them, but didn't let my computer lock on. I aimed for the spot where the suit would land, waited for what I felt to be the right timing, the Zaku about twenty feet above the riverside, and finally, narrowing my eyes, I pulled the trigger. The rocket left the tube, and twisted in a perfect spiral toward its target. The rocket was true, and as the Zaku's corps was blasted into the river, I tensed over the controls, ready to maneuver forward. This was battle…this was war. There was no escaping it now. This was my fight, for myself and my friend and commander. And come hell or high water, Melvin renaude was not backing down. In mere seconds, visions of Serena Tsukino and Molly Baker ran through my mind. What would they think of me? Would they see a nerd or a soldier?

I would fight on. For Chad, for Tucker, for myself, and for any man or woman who had ever looked down on me in my younger days. This was my fight, and I was going to see it through. I wouldn't panic, I wouldn't back down, and I would finish it. Only one word could exit my mouth as I hit the boosters and leaped forward towards the river.

"Ooh-rah."


	6. Chapter 5 The Gatekeepers Part II

Chapter 5 The Gatekeepers Part II

It had happened all at once. Five Zakus rocketed into the sky, their massive bulk keeping them limited from flying and weighing them down to a jump that barely made it across the wide Mississippi River. Two had "bazookas" – 40mm rocket launchers that reminded many of the old American bazookas of World War Two – and three were arms with the typical machine guns. Tucker downed one with his rocket launcher at the height of its jump, detonating and falling into the depths of the river. The other four landed.

One immediately boosted off again into the city after landing, and one came after Chad, who has presented himself as he fired his machine gun. Another Zaku met its fate at the business end of Tucker's launcher and the other boosted to the side and then up into the buildings, hunting after Tucker's GM.

Chad growled defiantly as the Zaku charged him, firing a rocket at him. He hit his boosters and shifted his suit to the left. Chad was under the Great Arch, and had darted behind the base of it, putting solid white steel between him and his enemy. He watched the smoke trail of the rocket cut a white line through the misty air and detonate on an abandoned building. He huffed a breath of relief – his reactions had saved him again. He ran scenarios through his mind quickly. He did not have the genius of Mel, nor did he have the experience of Tucker. What he did have was a solid will to fight and defend. As Tucker had put it, he was a natural fighter. He was brave, fierce and had great instincts in a fight.

That would hard to believe for some – including Chad – a few years ago. Yet here he was, in the midst of another battle and he was ready. He found that to be an odd feeling. He was ready for this…as if he had seen it coming, and was prepared to fight off his enemy.

He felt the tremors emanate through his mobile suit, and decided it was the Zaku coming for him. It was close – and the vibrations could be nearly anything. But something told him it was his enemy. He chose not to use his boosters because the light and smoke would alert his opponent who, if he had any experience, would see it and be ready for him. Instead he relied on the upgraded, powerful legs of his Marine Custom. He twisted his mobile suit's torso and leaped to the right, twisting in mid air a small amount, and letting his field of movement in the torso close the rest of the one hundred and eighty degrees needed to face his enemy.

The move caught the Zaku off guard, but at the same time, the Zaku was right up against the corner, and Chad nearly crashed into it. He missed the collision and reacted with aiming and firing his GM's secondary weapon – a 30mm Vulcan cannon stored in the chest, and called a "nipple gun". The barrel on the gun was short, and the bullets had a large spread and weren't very accurate beyond two hundred yards. But up close, it was deadly. The shells ripped into the chest and up into the head of the Zaku. It backed up, off balance as its mono-eye was taken out and the cockpit was punctured with several shells. The machine went still and stiffly fell to the ground.

Chad took a short breath and turned to look over the field of battle, and perhaps help out Tucker who was nearby. Instead, he was caught staring as five more Zaku's came hurdling over the river.

"How many are there?" he yelled, heard by his comrades, "Mel, watch your back!"

Mel answered his call of concern. As a Zaku landed, it was the closest to Chad's position. But just as its feet hit the ground, a rocket from Mel's launcher blew into its chest and sent the machine tumbling into the river. Mel let out a chuckle of ironic relief and took aim at the next Zaku. He fired his machine gun and took out his target with seeming ease. As the enemy mobile suit fell to the ground and slid down the crushed cobblestone riverside into the water, Chad leaped back behind his Arch shelter. He took time to look at his ammo in his Nipple Gun and his main gun. He was down to three quarters in his Vulcan cannon and his main, 45mm Machine gun still had one hundred of its one hundred and twenty rounds left. The gun was capable, with a well aimed burst, to take down a Zaku with five shells, but Chad used twenty on one Zaku. It was why he never used rockets. He had no faith in his shooting ability whatsoever beyond three hundred yards. It was his weakness. But he found that if he could get close enough, he was hard to beat in close combat.

"You alright up there, guys? I'm advancing up," Mel's voice came through the comm.-link. Chad was surprised by the calmness of his voice. His friend seemed to have come to terms with his fighting in this war.

"Two kills here," Tucker said gruffly, "There's more comin'. Where's Chavez?"

"Haven't seen him around, sir," Chad responded, "He never reported back from his scouting run this morning."

In truth, it was only about two in the afternoon and it was only now that Chavez would normally be getting back. Even so, he would have called in at least. Chad looked at his comm.-link indicators. A set of green and red LEDs lined a board under his HUD and close to his right control stick. Most lights were off, indicating that the channels of the Link were not used, but three were shining bright green, meaning his connections to Mel, Tucker and Chavez were clear.

"He hasn't turned off his…" Chad was cut off as shells hit and bounced off the corner of his defense and lined along the cement and stone ground to the side of his feet, "Ah…hasn't turned off his comm.-link."

"Chavez, Come in. Chavez, it's Tucker, come in!" Tucker called. Silence – the link stayed silent for a moment, "Chavez! We need the tank out here! We're gonna be blind if he have to head into the…"

"I'm here, Major!" Chavez's voice came over the link, "Sorry, sir, had this guy pull me over and ask for a ride. I couldn't just leave him. He says he's here on business from Grihps."

"Killingsworth…" Tucker groaned, "Killingsworth, if you can here me…damn it, if you get my man killed you'd better make sure you go with him!"

"It's all right, Major. But listen, I've got activity coming from an odd place. Looks like we've got some action…on the river bed." Chavez said, sounding slightly confused, "I'm hearing Mobile suits…it's two short in steps to be a Zaku and to boot, they're under water, in the river!"

"The river?" Chad said, narrowing his eyes. Shells raked the ground next to him again, but from a different angle. He growled again and jumped out from his shelter. He spotted his enemy and took aim. He pressed on the trigger, but before a shot was fired, his target – a Zaku about one hundred yards down the river bank – went up in flames and smoke.

"Ah! Mel! Was that you?" Chad yelped.

"Sorry! Was that one yours?" Mel called, voice muffled by the comm.-link, "I'm at the Weapons depot the convoy left us. I'll be a moment, take all the Zaku's you want!"

"You're too kind," Chad said rolling his eyes.

But Chad would get another chance. A second Zaku landed on the bank after jumping the river, and closer than the first. Chad didn't take the time to wonder how many were coming. He simply locked on and fired. A steady stream of tracers ripped from his gun and into the unassuming mobile suit opposite him. The right arm on the Zaku went limp, but it was the wrong arm. It raised its gun and fired while Chad ducked back behind the arch once more. He then leaned out and returned fire. But as tracers flew into the air, Chad saw the white foam of splashing water out of the corner of his eye.

"Kumada! Look out!" Tucker called, barely able to see what was happening, but able to see what came from the water.

Shooting from underneath the river and rocketing into the air was a brown, chubby looking mobile suit. Muddy water rose into the air in a massive wave that disappeared into mist as the suit flew out and into the air, a pink, glowing eye piercing the cloud of water. It was short, stubby, and had a massive, oval head. The typical "Vader Mask" that gave most Chinese mobile suits the look of having a diver's regulator where their mouth would have been, gave it the classical Chinese styling, along with a dangerous looking, glowing pink mono-eye. It's short, round, segmented arms ended in stubs that had four thick, long, and menacing claws.

Chad took the enemy suit in, gulping, as the scene seemed to fly by in slow motion. His blood ran cold as the suit raised its left arm and revealed a large hole in the middle of the metallic stub. He didn't think…he just moved. He hit the boosters and jumped backwards as a shower of large tracer shells poured from the mobile suit's left arm, missing Chad as he rocketed backwards a short distance. He landed and then darted to the right, getting out of the Zaku's line of fire. This left him to deal with only the new model in front of him.

However, before he could do much to aim, the brown suit lunged at him and thrust both arms forward. They suddenly became longer, and the thick, stubby segments revealed telescoping arms that could stretch out to pierce the enemy with its claws. Chad was barely in range, as the arms couldn't go terribly far. He tried to dodge to the right again, trying to circle around, but the brown machine was all too quick. Its claws hit his machine gun and easy pierced it, then ripped it from his GM's hands.

"Holy…!" Chad yelped as he landed. The brown machine flexed its four claws outward, and Chad's once hearty gun fell into pieces as the powerful claws tore it with ease, "What is this thing?" he exclaimed.

"There's another one, the hell!" Tucker's voice barked over the link. He now had to deal with one of the new models as well.

Chad lowered himself in his seat, leaning forward. He was on his own with this mobile suit, and he had a Zaku waiting for an open shot as well. It would no doubt advance on his position and try to double-team him.

"Need back-up, Mel!" Chad called.

"I'm trying to hurry! I'm out of ammo in my launcher, hold on!" Mel returned, "I'm getting a weapon up now, and on my way!"

"Hurry up, pal!" Chad said. He felt vibrations in his seat again. The Brown suit hadn't moved as it stared him down, like a cat playing with its prey. The vibrations made Chad sweat as he realized the Zaku was no doubt right behind him. He refused to be shot in the back, but still had this new brown suit to deal with. He felt vibrations again and heard the mechanical hum of the arms of his enemy rise behind him, taking aim. He narrowed his eyes, grit his teeth and turned.

Chad grunted as he forced his GM into a hard turn, pivoting on one leg one hundred and eighty degrees. He spotted the Zaku in no time. Indeed, it was right there behind him. He leaned forward immediately, swept his now empty gun arm across his chest and rammed the hand into the gun of the green Zaku. He then drove his other arm into the enemy's torso, piercing the chest area with his blue and white shield. The Zaku was lifted off the ground at the impact, shocking Chad with the power of his new mobile suit.

As the Zaku went limp, however, Chad's suit was forced forward with an even, violent beating. Bullets plowed into the shoulder guard of his suit, but his damage indicator did not make any noise. He grunted again as he forced himself back around to face the brown suit. It was in the middle of a jump and had its arms extended, claws at the ready. The arms were two long for Chad to ram his shield again and not be killed himself. He ducked down, trying to draw his beam saber. He knew as he watched the enemy he would not make it.

Then, from behind him, a loud, odd noise filled his cockpit. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before, as he saw a bright, glowing, pink beam of light pass over him, and pierce the torso of the brown mobile suit, he thought the sound fit. It was like a low scream, and sounded like what a beautiful, deadly beam of light would if it had a voice.

The enemy suit was knocked backwards as the beam of energy hit and sent it back into the river; it's legs staying on the shore. It never got up, but only detonated in a large, steam-powered, cloudy explosion of the suit's cooling system exploded along with its engines, which had been pierced by the beam.

"What was…" Chad said to himself as he sat in his cockpit panting, his heart throbbing against his chest, like it would fly out and onto his cockpit's forward screen.

"Oh, yeah! Look what I found!" Mel's ecstatic voice roared over the link.

"What WAS that Mel?" Chad yelled back at his friend, unable to contain himself as adrenalin pumped through his body.

"A friggin' beam rifle, that's what!" Mel returned with a loud, cheerful cry.

Chad huffed for a moment and shook his head, letting out a wide smile, "You keep saving my rear end today, you're gonna make me look bad, pal. Good job, Mel."

"I shoot them, you slice them. What do you say?" Mel asked.

"Get your butt out here and bring me a gun. Sounds good otherwise." Chad returned. He paused and looked down river, "Tucker…" he whispered.

Any worry he might have had disappeared as a brown mobile suit flew back in flames and into river only a few buildings down from Chad's position.

"Kumada, you all right?" Tucker said with a tired breath.

"All green. I got hit, but there's no damage. This new armor's top notch."

"How many did you get?" Tucker asked, "I've got three over here.

"Two," Chad said.

"And four!" Mel piped in.

"Four?" Tucker asked, cocking an eyebrow as he leaned back in his seat.

"Four." Mel repeated as he appeared from the concrete jungle of St. Louis and handed Chad a machine gun.

"I'd say that's an improvement, Renaude." Tucker said with a chuckle.

"Improvement my butt! I'm doing awesome!" Mel laughed with a fake chuckle. Chad rolled his eyes and Tucker only groaned.

An assessment of the situation was taken after Mobile Suits stopped coming. In the end, Chad caught up to Mel and took out three more suits. Tucker had two more kills. Mel only had one, but it was another brown mobile suit. Several suits, all Zakus, had retreated from the line and back into the city on the other side of the river, disappearing into the bulk of rubble and trees.

Tucker gathered what information he could from commanders at headquarters in nearby Florissant – a subdivision of St. Louis set West of the River. He got a few reports on attacks from the other stations, and found their fight had actually been fairly light. Several GM teams had been wiped out already, and many were done in by the new, Brown mobile suit China was throwing into the mix. Tucker was also able to get info on the suits.

The Mobile Suit were called the CUA-04 Acguy and were no secret on the West Coast. It was the only Amphibious Mobile Suit known of for the Chinese forces. The suits were armed with reinforced and heated claws on the forearms, used water as a coolant for their powerful engines. They had two 30mm machine guns set in their large head, acting much like the Vulcan cannons of the GM's head. They also had a 60mm machine cannon in their left arm. Chad had faced the Acguy at it's best – in a surprise attack from the water. It was so effective that the only way he had survived was Mel's last minute shot with the new beam rifle the he had found.

The attack stretched along a one hundred and thirty mile line that stretched from DeSoto, south of St. Louis, to the final outpost, SLO 23. The line of Chinese assault was scattered, some spots being more concentrated than others. The attack actually broke through the American line at SLO 23 and would have allowed the Chinese to flank most of the northern line if more forces showed up. However, the Chinese chose to retreat, as they had at one point or another at every attacking point.

Hours went by and silence was the only sound that came from the other side of the river. Tucker lead the team back into the buildings around their base camp at the abandoned hotel, and the pilots, staying in their suits, conferred with each other. It was now close to five in the evening, on April 15th, and the sun, still high in the sky, began to disappear behind dark clouds of gray.

As all this happened, the ball point pen of Lieutenant Steven Killingsworth tirelessly dashed to and froe across his paper, scratching out a story in his chicken scratch writing. A digital camera, small and easily concealed, had flashed several times in the Sonar Tank, and Chavez had eventually been forced to threaten the poor man before he would stop.

The inside of the tank was actually spacious compared to a conventional tank. It had two main guns – a 30mm armor piercing gatling gun which was set atop a main turret that housed a 180mm cannon. Most tanks were designed for a crew of three, but the Marines used a modified version that could be operated by one man.

Killingsworth recorded the details of the day, from what he heard of the attack from Tucker to what he saw first hand. Already he had six pages written in small letters in his college grade notebook. He sat, legs against the side of the tank, in a secondary gunner's seat. His notebook was propped up against his thighs for stability and he continued to write. Finally pausing for a moment, he looked up at the side of the tank, noting the map of St. Louis and the surrounding area that Chavez had taped to the metal, inner hull. Blue dots marked off the out posts where GM and Leo teams were stationed. An airport in Jefferson City was marked as a station for a couple MS-15 Ares squadrons. Killingsworth studied the map for a moment and leaned to Chavez.

"Excuse me, Sergeant?" he called.

"Lieutenant?" Chavez leaned back in his chair, pulling the left muff of his earphones off, speaking in his thick accent.

Killingsworth was stuck wondering a moment, wondering how a man with such a strong Spanish accent and with a direct Mexican bloodline had ended up in the American military in a war where Mexico was a declared enemy. But he soon returned to his original thoughts and questions.

"I don't quite understand something. I'm no strategic expert, but if the Chinese broke through at SLO 23, why didn't they flank us? Or is that why the force you guys faced retreated? It just seems odd to me that they'd give the enemy time to regroup and fortify their position AFTER they've broken through." The lieutenant said, noting the map.

Chavez stared for a moment, turned back to his console and then ducked his head in thought. He reached across the control board for the tank and flicked a certain switch then spoke into his headset.

"Major, you there?" he asked.

"What's up, Chavez?" Tucker's voice sounded throughout the tank.

"Repeat what you just asked me, Newsboy," Chavez commanded calmly. Killingsworth obeyed and silence followed for a moment.

"Well, I'd figure it was a diversion, but also a prodding attack – trying to feel out our line." Tucker said as he scratched his scruffy chin.

Mel soon cut in, "But wait a minute," he said from his cockpit, his mobile suit's hands digging through the weapons in the depot truck, reloading machine guns and launchers, "The reporter's got a point. Any logical war strategy would call for the Chinese to flank us if they can. But…if Tucker's right, and it was a prodding attack, then either they don't have the forces…or…"

Tucker leaned back in his seat for a moment. He ran a hand over his chin, feeling the coarse, short facial hair that was growing there. He narrowed his eyes and hummed for a second before reaching to his right and tapping a few keys on the keypad just above his control stick. On his right display screen a map of St. Louis and the surrounding area came up. He looked at it for a moment, seeing the marked SLO's and then wondering some things.

"Alright boys, thinking time. Put the local map on the screen. Use the map for sector seven. What do you think these guys are doing?" Tucker asked, half asking an honest question and half prodding like a teacher quizzing students.

Chad was already looking at the map and then nodded as he looked at the situation. Something that had hit him hard when he was at boot camp was military strategy. He had learned the basics, but it had clicked somehow. Everything he learned in the ways of battlefield tactics just made sense to him, and he was able to figure things out in that respect very fast. He studied the map, running a hand through his short brown hair.

"My guess," Tucker said, "Is they are regrouping for a flanking maneuver. They didn't have enough men the first time and broke through by mistake. They'll be confident after such an easy win, and they'll do it again. Let's just hope SLO 23 gets plenty of back up."

"Pardon me, sir," Chad broke in, "But I'm seeing something else."

"Oh? Fire away, Kumada." Tucker crossed his arms.

"Look, they took a bunch of SLO teams to back up 23, right? And they already pulled several other reinforcements, including ours, to support the initial attack on 22. Yes, we have a flanked line up North, but look, the reinforcement maneuver has left our Southern stations completely exposed – especially St. Louis. Not only that, but the Chinese should have just taken 23's position and tried to hold it if they wanted to do a flanking position. Now they have to retake it in order to do that, right?"

There was a paused before Tucker responded, "Right…where are you going with this?"

"Well, sir, I don't think they retreated because they needed more men. They didn't take the position for a reason. See, I'd say they made a mistake. They didn't MEAN to break through at SLO 23. I mean, it's just about in the middle of nowhere. Now, if I were leading the attack, I wouldn't want that outpost either." Chad was interrupted by Mel.

"He's got a point, sir. Topographically, that station is on low ground. 22 has higher ground that 23." Mel pointed out.

Tucker thought a moment, "Go on, Kumada."

"Basically sir, they don't want 23. They want us to think they do. If they were really prodding and seeing where the weakest spot was, I they'd see where that spot realy was." Chad typed on his keypad, marking several points and sending the display to his other team members. The points he marked were the Southern SLO's in the St. Louis region, which included their own team.

"SLO 23 isn't the strategic grail here. St. Louis is. And now, if you look at it, St. Louis is the weakest part of the line – specifically, our team's SLO." Chad finished up, "I think that the assault on 23 is mistake but it's created an opportunity for a faint. The smart thing to do would be to keep a little pressure on SLO 23 and then send the main force for the weakest part of our line. And if you look at the way things are now…that's us."

"They're gonna come at us full force then," Tucker said, clenching his fists as he set his arms at his side.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?" Mel asked with a grim monotone.

"If Kumada's right, then yeah, we are. I'll send this in to HQ and ask for reinforcements. Good catch, Kumada." Tucker said as he got busy connecting through to the Missouri Front HQ in Jefferson City.

After a while, Tucker was able to finally convince the higher-ups to give him some back up. But all he was able to get was the 120th Squadron, an Air Force squadron of six MS-15 Ares. It wasn't much, but was better than nothing. This left the team in complete silence for a moment before Mel finally spoke up.

"So, Major, what are going to do?" Mel asked nervously.

"Stay sharp, Renaude," Tucker said with a kind tone. His voice hardened and he looked towards the riverfront, "If Kumada's right, and I have a bad feeling he is, then we'll be in trouble tonight. It'll be rough, but we have to hold out. If the Chin breaks through at our SLO, and they do it with enough men, they'll be able to swing north and south on every station from 1 to 23 and flank every one of them." Tucker thought for a moment. He sighed grimly then turned the map off on his main screen, the afternoon scenery of St. Louis reappearing on the monitor.

"The attack will probably come tonight, after dark. Boys, we've got to hold. We've got to win this fight. We loose, and the Chin succeeds in a flanking maneuver…we could loose everything from here to Lincoln, Nebraska. We don't have a choice. But if anyone can do it, we can. You boys are as good as I've ever seen, and you're only gonna get better. Right? Ooh-rah!"

"Ooh-rah!" Mel and Chad roared in response.

"Right. Now…" Tucker maneuvered his mobile suit to look to the West, and spotting the weapons depot not far from his position. He smiled a crafty grin, "Let's clean house for the party guests tonight."


End file.
